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UARDA: 


A Romance of Ancient Egypt. 



By GEORGE EBERS. 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY CLARA BELL. 



A. L. BURT, PUBLISHER, NEW YORK. 


THE MANHATTAN LIBRARY $ A Series of 
Select Works from Standard Authors <$> Published on the 
First and Fifteenth of Each Month $ Yearly Subscription 
$12 $ Single Copies 50 Cents $ Vol. /, No. 3, March 15th , 
1891 $ Entered at the Post-Office at New York, N. Y., as 
Second-Class Matter. 












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Gift of 

Eetate of W. R- Hesaelbach,! 

1920. 






















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DEDICATION. 


Thou knowest well from what this book arose. 
When suffering seized and held me in its clasp 
The fostering hand released me from its grasp. 
And from amid the thorns there bloomed a rose. 
Air, dew, and sunshine were bestowed by Thee, 
And Thine it is; without these lines fronihne. 


. * ii X'** k 


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PREFACE. 


In the winter of 1875 I spent some weeks in one of the 
tombs of the Necropolis of Thebes in order to study the 
monuments of that solemn city of the dead; and during 
my long rides in the silent desert the germ was developed 
whence this book has since grown. The leisure of mind 
and body required to write it was given me through a long 
but not disabling illness. 

Iu the first instance I intended to elucidate this story — 
like my “Egyptian Princess” — with numerous and exten- 
sive notes placed at the end; but I was led to give up this 
plan from finding that it would lead me to the repetition 
of much that 1 had written in the notes to that earlier 
work. 

The numerous notes to the former novel had a threefold 
purpose. In the first place they served to explain the text; 
in the second they were a guarantee of the care with which 
I had striven to depict the archeological details in all their 
individuality from the records of the monuments and of 
classic authors; and thirdly I hoped to supply the reader 
who desired further knowledge of the period with some 
guide to his studies. 

In the present work I shall venture to content myself 
with the simple statement that I have introduced nothing 
as proper to Egypt and to the period of Rameses that 
cannot be proved by some authority; the numerous monu- 
ments which have descended to us from the time of the 


VI 


PREFACE. 


Rameses, in fact enable the inquirer to understand much 
of the aspect and arrangement of Egyptian life, and to 
follow it step by step through the details of religious, public 
and private life, even of particular individuals. 

Every part of this book is intelligible without the aid of 
notes; but, for the reader who seeks for further enlighten- 
ment, I have added some foot-notes, and have not 
neglected to mention such works as afford more detailed 
information on the subjects mentioned in the narrative. 

The reader who wishes to follow the mind of the author 
in this work should not trouble himself with the notes as 
he reads, but merely at the beginningof each chapter read 
over the notes which belong to the foregoing one. Every 
glance at the foot-notes must necessarily disturb and injure 
the development of the tale as a work of art. The story 
stands here as it flowed from one fount, and was supplied 
with notes only after its completion. 

A narrative of Herodotus combined with the Epos of 
Pentaur, of which so many copies have been handed down 
to us, forms the foundation of the story. 

The treason of the regent related by the Father of History 
is referable perhaps to the reign of the third and not of 
the second Rameses, But it is by no means certain that 
the Halicarnassian writer was in this case misinformed, 
and in this fiction no history will be inculcated; only as a 
background shall I offer a sketch of the time of Sesostris, 
from a picturesque point of view, but with the nearest pos- 
sible approach to truth. It is true that to this end noth- 
ing has been neglected that could be learned from the 
monuments or the papyri; still the book is only a romance, 
a poetic fiction, in which J wish all the facts derived from 
history and all the costume drawn from the monuments to 
be regarded as incidental, and the emotions of the actors in 
the story as what I attach importance to. 

But I must be allowed to make one observation. 


PREFACE. 


vn 


From studying the conventional mode of execution of 
ancient Egyptian art — which was strictly subject to the 
hieratic laws of type and proportion — we have accustomed 
ourselves to imagine the inhabitants of the Nile- valley in 
the time of the Pharaohs as tall and haggard men with 
little distinction of individual physiognomy, and recently 
a great painter has sought to represent them under this 
aspect in a modern picture. 

This is an error; the Egyptians, in spite of their aver- 
sion to foreigners and their strong attachment to their 
native soil, were one of the most intellectual and active 
peoples of antiquity; and he who would represent them as 
they lived, and to that end copies the forms which remain 
painted on the walls of the temples and sepulchres, is the 
accomplice of those priestly corrupters of art who com- 
pelled the painters and sculptors of the Pharaonic era to 
abandon truth to nature in favor of their sacred laws of 
proportion. 

He who desires to paint the ancient Egyptians with 
truth and fidelity, must regard it in some sort as an act of 
enfranchisement; that is to say, he must release the con- 
ventional forms from those fetters which were peculiar to 
their art and altogether foreign to their real life. Indeed, 
works of sculpture remain to us of the time of the first 
pyramid, which represent men with the truth of nature, 
unfettered by the sacred canon. We can recall the so-called 
“ Village Judge ” of Bulaq, the “Scribe,” now in Paris, 
and a few figures in bronze in different museums, as well 
as the noble and characteristic busts of all epochs, which 
amply prove now great the variety of individual phys- 
iognomy, and, with that, of individual character, was 
among the Egyptians. Alma Tadema in London and 
Gustav Richter in Berlin, have, as painters, treated Egyp- 
tian subjects, in a manner which the poet recognizes and 
accepts with delight. 


Vlll 


PREFACE. 


Many earlier witnesses than the late writer Flavius 
Vopiscus might be referred to who show us the Egyptians 
as an industrious and peaceful people, passionately devoted, 
it is true, to all that pertains to the other world, but also 
enjoying the gifts of life to the fullest extent, nay some- 
times to excess. 

Real men, such as we see around us in actual life, not 
silhouettes constructed to the old priestly scale such as the 
monuments show us — real living men dwelt by the old 
Nile-stream; and the poet who would represent them must 
courageously seize on types out of the daily life of modern 
men that surround him, without fear of deviating too far 
from reality, and, placing them in their own long past 
time, color them only and clothe them to correspond 
with it. 

I have discussed the authorities for the conception of 
love which I have ascribed to the ancients in the preface 
to the second edition of the “Egyptian Princess.” 

With these lines I send Uarda into the world; and in 
them I add my thanks to those dear friends in whose 
beautiful home, embowered in green, bird-haunted woods 
I have so often refreshed my spirit and recovered my 
strength, where I now write the last words of this book. 

Georg Ebers. 

Rheinbollekhutte, September 22, 1876. 


UARDA. 


CHAPTER I. 

By the walls of Thebes — the old city of a hundred 
gates — the Nile spreads to a broad river; the heights, 
which follow the stream on both sides, here take a more 
decided outline; solitary, almost cone-shaped peaks stand 
out sharply from the level background of the many-colored 
limestone hills, on which no palm-tree flourishes and in 
which no humble desert-plant can strike root. Rocky 
crevasses and gorges cut more or less deeply into the 
mountain range, and up to its ridge extends the desert, 
destructive of all life, with sand and stones, with rocky 
cliffs and reef-like, desert hills. 

Behind the eastern range the desert spreads to the Red 
Sea; behind the western it stretches without limit, into 
infinity. In the belief of the Egyptians beyond it lay the 
region of the dead. 

Between these two ranges of hills, which serve as walls 
or ramparts to keep back the desert-sand, flows the fresh 
and bounteous Nile, bestowing blessing and abundance; at 
once the father and the cradle of millions of beings. On each 
shore spreads the wide plain of black and fruitful soil, and 
in the depths many-shaped creatures, in coats of mail or 
scales, swarm and find subsistence. 

The lotus floats on the mirror of the waters, and among 
the papyrus reeds by the shore water-fowl innumerable 
build their nests. Between the river and the mountain 
range lie fields, which after the seed-time are of a shining 
blue-green, and toward the time of harvest glow like gold. 
Near the brooks and water-wheels here and there stands a 
shady sycamore; and date-palms, carefully tended, group 
themselves in groves. The fruitful plain, watered and 


2 


UARDA. 


manured every year by the inundation, lies at the foot of 
the sandy desert-hills behind it, and stands out like a 
garden flower-bed from the gravel path. 

In the fourteenth century before Christ — for to so 
remote a date we must direct the thoughts of the reader — 
impassable limits had been set by the hand of man, in 
many places in Thebes, to the inroads of the water; high 
dykes of stone and embankments protected the streets and 
squares, the temples and the palaces, from the overflow. 

Canals that could be tightly closed up led from the 
dykes to the land within, and smaller branch-cuttings to 
the gardens of Thebes. 

On the right, the eastern, bank of the Nile rose the 
buildings of the far-famed residence of the Pharaohs. 
Close by the river stood the immense and gaudy temples 
of the city of Amon; behind these and at a short distance 
from the Eastern hills — indeed at their very foot and 
partly even on the soil of the desert — were the palaces of 
the king and nobles, and the shady streets in which the 
high narrow houses of the citizens stood in close rows. 

Life was gay and busy in the streets of the capital of 
the Pharaohs. 

The western shore of the Nile showed a quite different 
scene. Here too there was no lack of stately buildings or 
thronging men; but while on the further side of the river 
there was a compact mass of houses, and the citizens went 
cheerfully and openly about their day’s work, on this side 
there were solitary splendid structures, round which little 
houses and huts seemed to cling as children cling to the 
protection of a mother. And these buildings lay in 
detached groups. 

Any one climbing the hill and looking down would form 
the notion that there, lay below him a number of neigh- 
boring villages, each with its lordly manor-house. Look- 
ing from the plain up to the precipice of the western hills, 
hundreds of closed portals could be seen, some solitary, 
others closely ranged in rows; a great number of them 
toward the foot of the slope, yet more half-way up, and a 
few at a considerable height. 

And even more dissimilar were the slow-moving, solemn 
groups in the road-ways on this side, and the cheerful, con- 
fused throng yonder. There, on the eastern shore, all 


VARDA . 


3 


were in eager pursuit of labor or recreation, stirred by 
pleasure or by grief, active in deed and speech; here, in 
the west, little was spoken, a spell seemed to check the 
footstep of the wanderer, a pale hand to sadden the bright 
glance of every eye, and to banish the smile from every Tip. 

And yet many a gayly-dressed bark stopped at the shore, 
there was no lack of minstrel bands, grand processions 
passed on to the western heights; but the Nile boats bore 
the dead, the songs sung here v^ere songs of lamentation,, 
and the processions consisted of mourners following the 
sarcophagus. 

V We are standing on the soil of the City of the Dead of 
Thebes. 

Nevertheless even here nothing is wanting for return 
and revival, for to the Egyptian his dead died not. He 
closed his eyes, he bore him to the Necropolis, to the 
house of the embalmer, or Kolchytes, and then to the 
grave; but he knew that the souls of the departed lived on; 
that the justified absorbed into Osiris floated over the 
Heavens in the vessel of the Sun; that' they appeared on 
earth in the form they chose to take upon them, and that 
they might exert influence on the current of the lives of 
the survivors. So he took care to give a worthy interment 
to his dead, above all to have the body embalmed so as to 
endure long; and had fixed times to bring fresh offerings 
for the dead, of flesh and fowl, with drink-offerings and 
sweet-smelling essences, and vegetables and flowers. 

Neither at the obsequies nor at the offerings might the 
ministers of the gods be absent, and the silent City of the 
Dead was regarded as a favored sanctuary in which to es- 
tablish schools and dwellings for the learned. 

So it came to pass that in the temples and on the site of 
the Necropolis, large communities of priests dwelt ^together, 
and close to the extensive embalming houses lived numer- 
ous Kolchytes, who handed down the secrets of their art 
from father to son. 

Besides these there were other manufactories and shops. 
In the former, sarcophagi of stone and of wood, linen bands 
for enveloping mummies, and amulets for decorating 
them, were made; in the latter, merchants kept spices and 
essences, flowers, fruits, vegetables and pastry for sale. 
Calves, gazelles, goats, geese and other fowl were fed on 


4 


UARDA. 


inclosed meadow-plats, and the mourners betook them- 
selves thither to select what they needed from among the 
beasts pronounced by the priests to be clean for sacrifice, 
and to have them sealed with the sacred seal. Many 
bought only apart of a victim at the shambles — the poor 
could not even do this. They bought only colored cakes 
in the shape of beasts, which symbolically took the place 
of the calves and geese which their means were unable to 
procure. In the handsomest shops sat servants of the 
priests, who received forms written on rolls of papyrus 
which were filled up in the writing-room of the temple 
with those sacred verses which the departed spirit must 
know and repeat to ward off the evil genius of the deep, 
to open the gate of the under-world, and to be held right- 
eous before Osiris and the forty-two assessors of the sub- 
terranean court of justice. 

What took place within the temples was concealed from 
‘ view, for each was surrounded by a high inclosing wall 
with lofty, carefully-closed portals, which were only 
opened when a chorus of priests came out to sing a pious 
hymn, in the morning to Horus the rising god, and in the 
evening to Turn the descending god.* 

As soon as the evening hymn of the priests w T as heard, 
the Necropolis was deserted, for the mourners and those 
who were visiting the graves were required by this time to 
return to their boats and to quit the City of the Dead. 
Crowds of men who had marched in the processions of the 
west bank hastened in disorder to the shore, driven on by 
the body of watchmen who took it in turns to do this duty 
and to protect the graves against robbers. The merchants 
closed their booths, the embalmers and workmen ended 
their day's work and retired to their houses, the priests 
returned to the temples, and the inns were filled with 
guests, who had come hither on long pilgrimages from a 
distance, and who preferred passing the night in the vicinity 
of the dead whom they had come to visit, to going across 
to the bustling noisy city on the further shore. 

* The course of the Sun was compared to that of the life of Man. 
He rose as the child Horus, grew by midday to the hero Ra, who 
conquered the Uraeus snake for his diadem, and by evening was an 
old Man, Turn. Light had been born of darkness, hence Turn was 
regarded as older than Horus and the other gods of light. 


UARDA. 


5 


^? e j V01Ces s ^ n g ers an( ^ °f the wailing women was 

hushed, even the song of the sailors on the numberless 
ferry-boats from the western shore to Thebes died away, 
its faint echo was now and then borne across on the evening 
air, and at last all was still. 

A cloudless sky spread over the silent City of the Dead, 
now and then darkened for an instant by the swiftly pass- 
ing shade of a bat returning to its home in a cave or cleft 
of the rock after flying the whole evening near the Nile to 
catch flies, to drink, and so prepare itself for the next 
day's sleep. From time to time black forms with long 
shadows glided over the still illuminated plain — the jackals, 
who at this hour frequented the shore to slake their thirst, 
and often fearlessly showed themselves in troops in the 
vicinity of the pens of geese and goats. 

It was forbidden to hunt these robbers as they were ac- 
counted sacred to the god Anubis,* the tutelary of sepulchers, 
and indeed they did little mischief, for they found abun- 
dant food in the tombs. 

The remnants of the meat-offerings from the altars were 
consumed by them; to the perfect satisfaction of the dev- 
otees, who, when they found that by the following day 
the meat had disappeared, believed that it had been 
accepted and taken away by the spirits of the under- world. 

They also did the duty of trusty watchers, for they were 
a dangerous foe for any intruder who, under the shadow 
of the night, might attempt to violate a grave. 

Thus — on that summer evening of the year 1352 B. c., 
when we invite the reader to accompany us to the Necrop- 
olis of Thebes — after the priests' hymn had died away, 
all was still in the City of the Dead. 

The soldiers on guard were already returning from their 
first round when suddenly, on the north side of the Necrop- 
olis, a dog barked loudly; soon a second took up the cry, 
a third, a fourth. The captain of the watch called to his 


* The jackal-headed god Anubis was the son of Osiris and Neph- 
tliys, and the jackal was sacred to him. In the earliest ages even he 
is prominent in the nether world. He conducts the mummifying 
process, preserves the corpse, guards the Necropolis, and, as Hermes 
Psychopompos (Hermanubis), opens the way for the souls. Accord- 
ing to Plutarch “He is the watch of the gods, as the dog is the 
watch of men.” 


6 


VARDA . 


men to halt, and, as the cry of the dogs spread and gre\V 
louder every minute, commanded them to march toward 
the north. 

The little troop had reached the high dyke which 
divided the west bank of the Nile from a branch canal, 
and looked from thence over the plain as far as the river 
and to the north of the Necropolis. Once more the word 
to “ halt” was given, and as the guard perceived the glare 
of torches in the direction where the dogs were barking 
loudest, they hurried forward and came up with the 
author of the disturbance near the Pylon* of the temple 
erected by Seti I, the deceased father of the reigning King 
Rameses II. 

The moon was up, and her pale light flooded the stately 
structure, while the walls glowed with the ruddy smoky 
light of the torches which flared in the hands of black 
attendants. 

A man of sturdy build, in sumptuous dress, was knock- 
ing at the brass-covered temple door with the metal handle 
of a whip, so violently that the blows rang far and loud 
through the night. Near him stood a litter, and a chariot, 
to which were harnessed two fine horses. In the litter sat 
a young woman, and in the carriage, next to the driver, 
was the tall figure of a lady. Several men of the upper 
classes and many servants stood round the litter and the 
chariot. Few words were exchanged ; the whole atten- 
tion of the strangely lighted group seemed concentrated 
on the temple gate. The darkness concealed the features 
of individuals, but the mingled light of the moon and the 
torches was enough to reveal to the gate-keeper, who 
looked down on the party from a tower of the Pylon, 
that it was composed of persons of the highest rank; nay, 
perhaps of the royal family. 

He called aloud to the one who knocked, and asked him 
what was his will. 

He looked up, and in a voice so rough and imperious, 
that the lady in the litter shrank in horror as its tones 
suddenly violated the place of the dead, he cried out: 
“How long are we to wait here for you, you dirty hound? 


* The two pyramidal towers joined by a gateway which formed the 
entrance to an Egyptian temple were called the Pylon. 


VAftDA. 


? 

Come down and open the door and then ask questions. 
If the torch-light is not bright enough to show you who is 
waiting, I will score our name on your shoulders with my 
whip, and teach .you how to receive princely visitors.” 

While the porter muttered an unintelligible answer and 
came down the steps within to open the door, the lady in the 
chariot turned to her impatient companion and said, in a 
pleasant but yet decided voice: “ You- forget, Paaker, 
that you are back again in Egypt, and that here you have 
to deal not with the wild Schasu,* but with friendly priests 
of whom we have to solicit a favor. We have always had 
to lament your roughness, which seems to me very ill- 
suited to the unusual circumstances under which we ap- 
proach this sanctuary.” 

Although these words were spoken in a tone rather of 
regret than of blame, they wounded the sensibilities of the 
person addressed; his wide nostrils began to twitch omi- 
nously, he clenched his right hand over the handle of his 
whip, and while he seemed to be bowing humbly, he struck 
such a heavy blow on the bare leg of a slave who was stand- 
ing near to him, an old Ethiopian, that he shuddered as 
if from sudden cold, though — knowing his lord only too 
well — he let no cry of pain escape him. Meanwhile the 
gate-keeper had opened the door, and with him a tall 
young priest stepped out into the open air to ask the will 
of the intruders. 

Paaker would have seized the opportunity of speaking, 
but the lady in the chariot interposed and said: 

“ I am Bent-Anat, the daughter of the King, and this 
lady in the litter is Nefert, the wife of the noble Mena, the 
charioteer of my father. We were going in company with 
these gentlemen to the north-west valley of the Necropolis 
to see the new works there. You know the narrow pass 
in the rocks which leads up the gorge. On the way home 
I myself held the reins and I had the misfortune to drive 
over a girl who sat by the road with a basket full of flowers, 
and to hurt her — to hurt her very badly I am afraid. The 
wife of Mena with her own hands bound up the child, and 
then we carried her to her father's house — he is a para- 


* A Semitic race of robbers in the east of Egypt. 


g XJAKDA. 

schites* — Pinem is his name. I know not whether he is 
known to you.” 

“ Thou hast been into his house, princess?” 

“ Indeed, L was obliged, holy father,” she replied. “ I 
know of course that I have defiled myself by crossing the 

threshold of these people, but ” 

But,” cried the wife of Mena, raising herself in her 
litter, “ Bent-Anat can in a day be purified by thee or by 
her house-priest, while she can hardly — or perhaps never — 
restore the child whole and sound again to the unhappy 
father.” 

“Still the den of a paraschites is above everything un- 
clean,” interrupted the chamberlain Penbesa, master of the 
ceremonies to the princess, the wife of Mena, “and I did 
not conceal my opinion when Bent-Anat announced her 
intention of visiting the accursed hole in person. I sug- 
gested,” he continued, turning to the priest, “that she 
should let the girl be taken home, and send a royal present 
to the father.” 

“And the princess?” asked the priest. 

“ She acted, as she always does, on her own judgment,” 
replied the master of the ceremonies. 

“ And that always hits on the right course,” cried the 
wife of Mena. 

“Would to God it were so!” said the princess in a sub- 
dued voice. Then she continued, addressing the priest, 
“ Thou knowest the will of the gods and the hearts 
of men, holy father, and I myself know that I give alms 
willingly and help the poor even when there is none to 
plead for them but their poverty. But after what has oc- 
curred here, and to these unhappy people, it is I who come 
as a suppliant.” 

“Thou?” said the chamberlain. 

“I,” answered the princess, with decision. The priest, 
who up to this moment had remained a silent witness of 
the scene, raised his right hand as in blessing and 
spoke. 

“ Thou hast done well. The Hathors, fashioned thy 


* One who opened the bodies of the dead to prepare them for 
being embalmed. 


UARDA . 


9 


heart* and the Lady of Truth guides it. Thou hast 
broken in on our night-prayers to request us to send a doc- 
tor to the injured girl?” 

“ Thou hast said.” 

“ I will ask the higli-priest to send the best leech for 
outward wounds immediately to the child. But where is 
the house of the paraschites Pinem? I do not know it.” 

“ Northward from the terrace of Hatasu, close to 

But I will charge one of my attendants to conduct the 
leech. Besides, I want to know early in the morning how 
the child is doing. Paaker.” 

The rough visitor, whom we already know, thus called 
upon, bowed to the earth, his arms hanging by his sides, 
and asked: 

“ What dost thou command?” 

“ I appoint you guide to the physician,” said the prin- 
cess. “ It will be easy to the king’s pioneerf to find the* 
little half-hidden house again — besides, you share my guilt, 
for,” she added, turning to the priest, “ I confess that the 
misfortune happened because I would try with my horse to 
overtake Paaker’s Syrian racer, which he declared to be 
swifter than the Egyptian horses. It was a mad race.” 

“And Amon be praised that it ended as it did,” ex- 
claimed the master of the ceremonies. “ Paaker’s chariot 
lies dashed in pieces in the valley, and his best horse is 
badly hurt.” 

“ lie will see to him when he has taken the physician 
to the house of the paraschites,” said the princess. “ Dost 
thou know, Penbesa — thou anxious guardian of a thought- 


* Hathor was Isis under a substantial form. She is the goddess of 
the pure, light heaven, and bears the Sun-disk between cow-horns 
on a cow’s head, or on a human head with cow’s ears. She was 
named the Fair, and all the pure joys of life are in her gift. Later 
she was regarded as a Muse who beautifies life with enjoyment, love, 
song, and the dance. She appears as a good fairy by the cradle of 
children and decides their lot in life. She bears many names; and 
several, generally seven, Hathors were represented, who personified 
the attributes and influence of the goddess. 

fThe title here rendered pioneer was that of an officer whose 
duties were those at 1 once of a scout and of a Quartermaster- 
General. In unknown and comparatively savage countries it was an 
onerous post. — Translator. 


10 


VARDA. 


less girl — that to-day for the first time I am glad that my 
father is at the war in distant Satiland?”* 

“He would not have welcomed us kindly!” said the 
master of the ceremonies, laughing. 

“But the leech, the leech!” cried Bent-Anat. “Paaker, 
it is settled then. You will conduct him, and bring us 
to-morrow morning news of the wounded girl.” 

Paaker bowed; the princess bowed her head; the priest 
and his companions, who meanwhile had come out of the 
temple and joined him, raised their hands in blessing, and 
the belated procession moved toward the Nile. 

Paaker remained alone with his two slaves; the commis- 
sion with which the princess had charged him greatly dis- 
pleased him. So long as the moonlight enabled him to 
distinguish the litter of Mena’s wife, he gazed after it; 
then he endeavored to recollect the position of the hut of 
the paraschites. The captain of the watch still stood with 
the guard at the gate of the temple. 

“ Do you know the dwelling of Pinem the paraschites?” 
asked Paaker. 

“ What do you want with him?” 

“ That is no concern of yours,” retorted Paaker. 

“Lout!” exclaimed the captain; “left face and forward, 
my men.” 

“ Halt!” cried Paaker, in a rage. “ I am the king’s chief 
pioneer.” 

“ Then you will all the more easily find the way back by 
which you came. March.” 

The words were followed by a peal of many- voiced 
laughter; the re-echoing insult so confounded Paaker that 
he dropped his whip on the ground. The slave, whom a 
short time since he had struck with it, humbly picked it 
up and then followed his lord into the forecourt of the 
temple. Both attributed the titter, which they still could 
hear without being able to detect its origin, to wandering 
spirits. But the mocking tones had been heard too by the 
old gate-keeper, and the laughers were better known to 
him than to the king’s pioneer; he strode with heavy steps 
up to the door of the temple through the black shadow of 
the Pylon, and striking blindly before him called out: 


*Asia. 


UARDA. 


11 


“ Ah, you good-for-nothing brood of Seth.* You gal- 
lows-birds and brood of hell — I am coming.” 

The giggling ceased; a few youthful figures appeared in 
the moonlight; the old man pursued them panting, and, 
after a short chase, a troop of youths fled back through the 
temple gate. 

The door-keeper had succeeded in catching one mis- 
creant, a boy of thirteen, and held him so tight by the ear 
that his pretty head seemed to have grown in a horizontal 
direction from his shoulders. 

“ I will take you before the school-master, you plague- 
of-locusts, you swarm of bats!” cried the old man, out of 
breath. But the dozen of school-boys, who had availed 
themselves of the opportunity to break out of bounds, 
gathered coaxing round him, with words of repentance, 
though every eye sparkled with delight at the fun they 
had had, and of which no one could deprive them; and 
when the biggest of them took the old man's chin, and 
promised to give him the wine which his mother was to 
send him next day for the week's use, the porter let go 
his prisoner — who tried to rub the pain out of his burning 
ear — and cried out in harsher tones than before: 

“You will pay me, will you, to Jet you off! Do you 
think I will let your tricks pass? You little know this old 
man. I will complain to the gods, not to the school- 
master; and as for your wine, youngster, I will offer it as 
a libation, that heaven may forgive you.” 


CHAPTER II. 

The temple where, in the forecourt, Paaker was waiting, 
and where the priest had disappeared to call the leech, was 
called the “ House of Seti,” f and was one of the largest in 
the City of the Dead. Only that magnificent building of 
the time of the deposed royal race of the reigning king's 


*Tke Typlion of tlie Greeks. The enemy of Osiris, of trutli, 
good and purity. Discord and strife in nature. Horus, who fights 
against him for his father Osiris, can throw him and stun him, but 
never annihilate him. 

f It is still standing, and known as the temple of Qurnali. 


VARDA. 


12 

grandfather— that temple which had been founded by 
Thotmes III, and whose gateway Ameiyophis III had 
adorned with immense colossal statues *— exceeded it in 
the extent of its plan; in every other respect it held the 
pre-eminence among the sanctuaries of the Necropolis. 
Rameses I had founded it shortly after his accession, the 
better to secure his possession of the throne of Egypt; and 
his yet greater son Seti carried on the erection, in which 
the service of the dead for the Manes of the members of 
the new royal family was conducted, and the high festi- 
vals held in honor of the gods of the under-world. Great 
sums had been expended for its establishment, for the 
maintenance of the priesthood of its sanctuary, and the 
support of the institutions connected with it. These were 
intended to be equal to the great original foundations of 
priestly learning at Heliopolis and Memphis; they were 
regulated on the same pattern, and with the object of rais- 
ing the new royal residence of upper Egypt, namely 
Thebes, above the capitals of lower Egypt in regard to 
philosophical distinction. 

One of the most important of these foundations was a 
very celebrated school of learning. First there was the 
high school, in which priests, physicians, judges, mathe- 
maticians, astronomers, grammarians, and other learned 
men, not only had the benefit of instruction, but, subse- 
quently, when they had won admission to the highest 
ranks of learning, and attained the dignity of “ Scribes,” 
were maintained at the cost of the king, and enabled to 
pursue their philosophical speculations and researches, in 
freedom from all care, and in the society of fellow-workers 
of equal birth and identical interests. 

An extensive library, in which thousands of papyrus- 
rolls were preserved, and to which a manufactory of papy- 
rus was attached, was at the disposal of the learned; and 
some of them were intrusted with the education of the 
younger disciples, who had been prepared in the element- 
ary school, which was also dependent on the House — or 
university — of Seti. The lower school was open to every 
son of a free citizen, and was often frequented by several 


* The well-known colossal statues, of which tliat which stands to 
the north is the famous musical statue, or Pillar of Memnon. 


UARDA. 


13 

hundred boys, who also found night-quarters there. The 
parents were of course required either to pay for their 
maintenance, or to send due supplies of provisions for the 
keep of their children at school. 

In a separate building lived the temple-boarders, a few 
sons of the noblest families, who were brought up by the 
priests at a great expense to their parents. 

Seti I, the founder of this establishment, had had his 
own son, and successor, Rameses, educated here. 

The elementary schools were strictly ruled, and the rod 
played so large a part in them that a pedagogue could 
record this saying: “The scholar’s ears are at his back; 
when he is flogged then he hears.” 

Those youths who wished to pass up from the lower to 
the high school had to undergo an examination. The 
student, when he had passed it, could choose a master 
from among the learned of the higher grades, who under- 
took to be his philosophical guide, and to whom he re- 
mained attached all his life through, as a client to his 
patron. He could obtain the degree of “ Scribe ” and 
qualify for public office by a second examination. 

Near to these schools of learning there stood also a 
school of art, in which instruction was given to students 
who desired to devote themselves to architecture, sculp- 
ture, or painting; in these also the learner might choose 
his master. 

Every teacher in these institutions belonged to the 
priesthood of the House of Seti. It consisted of more than/ 
eight hundred members, divided into five classes, and com 
ducted by three so-called prophets. 

The first prophet was the high-priest of the House of 
Seti, and at the same time the superior of all the thousands 
of upper and under servants of the divinities which be- 
longed to the City of the Dead of Thebes. 

The temple of Seti proper was a massive structure of 
limestone. A row of Sphinxes led from the Nile to the 
surrounding wall, and to the first vast pro-pylon, which 
formed the entrance to a broad forecourt inclosed on the 
two sides by colonnades, and beyond which stood a second 
gateway. When he had passed through this door, which 
stood between two towers, in shape like truncated pyra- 
mids, the stranger came to a second court resembling the 


14 


UARDA. 


first, closed at the farther end by a noble row of pillars, 
which formed part of the central temple itself. 

The innermost and last was dimly lighted by a few 
lamps. 

" 1 ' ’ 11 ' 1 * ° 4i stood large square structures 



which, however, had a hand- 


some and decorative effect, as the humble material of 
which they were constructed was plastered with lime, and 
that again was painted with colored pictures and hiero- 
glyphic inscriptions. 

The internal arrangement of all these houses was the 
same. In the midst was an open court, on to which opened 
the doors of the rooms of the priests and philosophers. 
On each side of the court was a shady, covered colonnade 
of wood, and in the midst a tank gay with ornamental 
plants. In the upper story were the apartments for the 
scholars; and instruction was usually given in the paved 
court-yard strewn with mats. 

The most imposing was the house of the chief prophets; 
it was distinguished by its waving standards, and stood 
about a hundred paces behind the temple of Seti, between 
a well-kept grove and a clear lake, the sacred tank of the 
temple; but they only occupied it while fulfilling their 
office, while the splendid houses which they lived in with 
their wives and children lay on the other side of the river, 
in Thebes proper. 

The untimely visit to the temple could not remain unob- 
served by the colony of sages. Just as ants, when a hand 
breaks in on their dwelling, hurry restlessly hither and 
thither, so an unwonted stir had agitated, not the school- 
boys only, but the teachers and the priests. They collected 
in groups near the outer walls, asking questions and hazard- 
ing guesses. A messenger from the king had arrived — the 
Princess Bent-Anat had been attacked by the Kolchytes — 
and a wag among the school-boys, who had got out, declared 
that Paaker, the king’s pioneer, had been brought into the 
temple by force to be made to learn to write better. As 
the subject of the joke had formerly been a pupil of the 
House of Seti, and many delectable stories of his errors in 
penmanship still survived in the memory of the later gen- 
eration of scholars, this information was received with joy- 
ful applause; and it seemed to have a glimmer of proba- 


UARDA. 


15 


bility, in spite of the apparent contradiction that Paaker 
tilled one of the highest offices near the king, when a 
grave young priest declared that he had seen the pioneer 
in the forecourt of the temple. 

The lively discussion, the laughter and shouting of the 
boys at such an unwonted hour, was not unobserved by the 
chief priest. 

This remarkable prelate, Ameni, the son of Nebket, a 
scion of an old and noble family, was far more than merely 
the independent head of the temple-brotherhood, among 
whom he was prominent for his power and wisdom; for 
all the priesthood in the length and breadth of the land 
acknowledged his supremacy, asked his advice in difficult 
cases, and never resisted the decisions in spiritual matters 
which emanated from the House of Seti — that is to say, 
from Ameni. He was the embodiment of the priestly 
idea; and if at times he made heavy — nay extraordinarv — 
demands on individual fraternities, they were submitted 
to, for it was known by experience that the indirect roads 
which he ordered them to follow all converged on one goal, 
namely, the exaltation of the power and dignity of the 
hierarchy. The king appreciated this remarkable man, 
and had long endeavored to attach him to the court, as 
keeper of the royal seal; but Ameni was not to be induced 
to give up his apparently modest position; for he con- 
temned all outward show and ostentatious titles; he vent- 
ured sometimes to oppose a decided resistance to the 
measures of the Pharaoh,* and was not minded to give up 
his unlimited control of the priests for the sake of a lim- 
ited dominion over what seemed to him petty external con- 
cerns, in the service of a king >vho was only too independent 
and hard to influence. 

He regularly arranged his mode and habits of life in an 
exceptional way. 

Eight days out of ten he remained in the temple in- 
trusted to his charge; two he devoted to his family, who 
lived on the other bank of the Nile; but he let no one, not 

* Pliaraob is the Hebrew form of the Egyptian Peraa — or Phrah. 
“The great house,” “sublime house,” or “ high gate,” is the literal 
meaning. — Author. 

A remnant of the idea seems to survive in the title, “ The sublime 
Porte. ” — Translator. 


16 


UARDA. 


even those nearest to him, know what portion of the ten 
days he gave up to recreation. He required only four 
hours of sleep. This he usually took in a dark room 
which no sound could reach, and in the middle of the day; 
never at night, when the coolness and quiet seemed to add 
to his powers of work, and when from time to time he 
could give himself up to the study of the starry heavens. 

All the ceremonials that his position required of him, 
the cleansing, purification, shaving, and fasting, he ful- 
filled with painful exactitude, and the outer bespoke the 
JmneiMman. ' ~~ 

~'i£ineni was entering on his fiftieth year; his figure was 
tall, and had escaped altogether the stoutness to which at 
that age the Oriental is liable. The shape of his smoothly 
shaven head was symmetrical and of a long oval; his fore- 
head was neither broad nor high, but his profile was unu- 
sually delicate, and his face striking; his lips were thin and 
dry, and his large and piercing eyes, though neither fiery 
nor brilliant, and usually cast down to the ground under 
his thick eyebrows, were raised with a full, clear, dispas- 
sionate gaze when it was necessary to see and to examine. 

The poet of the House of Seti, the young Pentaur, who 
knew these eyes, had celebrated them in song, and 
had likened them to a well-disciplined army which the 
general allows to rest before and after the battle, so 
that they may march in full strength to victory in the 
fight. 

The refined deliberateness of his nature had in it much 
that was royal as well as priestly; it was partly intrinsic 
and born with him, partly the result of his own mental 
self-control. He had many enemies, but calumny seldom 
dared to attack the high character of Ameni. 

The high -priest looked up in astonishment, as the 
disturbance in the court of his temple broke in on his 
studies. 

The room in which he was sitting was spacious and 
cool; the lower part of the walls was lined with earthen- 
ware tiles, the upper half plastered and painted. But 
little was visible of the masterpieces of the artists of the 
establishment, for almost everywhere they were concealed 
by wooden closets and shelves, in which were papyrus-rolls 
and wax tablets. A large table, a couch covered with a 


UARDA. 


17 


panther’s skin, a footstool in front of it, and on it a 
crescent-shaped support for the head, made of ivory,* 
several seats, a stand with beakers and jugs, and another 
with flasks of all sizes, saucers, and boxes, composed the 
furniture of the room, which was lighted by three lamps, 
shaped like birds and filled with kiki oil. f 

Ameni wore a fine pleated robe of snow-white linen, 
which reached to his ankles; round his hips was a scarf 
adorned with fringes, which in front formed an apron, 
with broad, stiffened ends which fell to his knees; a wide 
belt of white and silver brocade confined the drapery of 
his robe. Round his throat and far down on his bare 
breast hung a necklace more than a span deep, composed 
of pearls and agates, and his upper arm was covered with 
broad gold bracelets. He rose from the ebony seat with 
lion’s feet, on which he sat, and beckoned to a servant 
who squatted by one of the walls of the sitting-room. He 
rose, and without any word of command from his master, 
silently and carefully placed on the high - priest’s bare 
head a long and thick curled wig, and threw a leopard 
skin, with its head and claws overlaid with gold-leaf, over 
his shoulders. A second servant held a metal mirror 
before Ameni, in which he cast a look as he settled the 
panther-skin and head-gear. 

A third servant was handing him the crosier, the in- 
signia of his dignity as a prelate, when a priest entered 
and announced the scribe Pentaur. 

Ameni nodded, and the young priest, who had talked 
with the Princess Bent-Anat at the temple gate came into 
the room. 

Pentaur knelt and kissed the hand of the prelate, who 
gave him his blessing, and in a clear, sweet voice, and 
rather formal and unfamiliar language — as if he were read- 
ing rather than speaking, said: 

“Rise, my son; your visit will save me a walk at this 
untimely hour, since you can inform me of what disturbs 
the disciples in our temple. Speak.” 

“ Little of consequence has occurred, holy father,” re- 

* A support of crescent form on which the Egyptians rested their 
heads. Many specimens were found in the catacombs, and similar 
objects are still used in Nubia. 

f Castor oil, which was used in the lamps. 


18 


UARDA. 


plied Pentaur. “ Nor would I have disturbed thee at this 
hour, but that a quite unnecessary tumult has been raised 
by the youths; and that the Princess Bent-Anat appeared 
in person to request the aid of a physician. The unusual 
hour and the retinue that followed her ” 

“ Is the daughter of the Pharaoh sick?”asked the prelate. 

“ No, father. She is well — even to wantonness, since — 
wishing to prove the swiftness of her horse — she ran over 
the daughter of the paraschites Pinem. Noble-hearted as 
she is, she herself carried the sorely-wounded girl to her 
house.” 

“ She entered the dwelling of the unclean?” 

“Thou hast said.” 

“And she now asks to be purified?” 

“ I thought I might venture to absolve her, father, for 
the purest humanity led her to the act, which was no doubt 
a breach of discipline, but ” 

“ But?” asked the high-priest in a grave voice, and he 
raised his eyes which he had hitherto kept fixed on the 
ground. 

“ But,” said the young priest, and now his eyes fell, 
“ which can surely be no crime. When Ra in his" golden 
bark sails across the heavens, his light falls as freely und 
as bountifully on the hut of the despised poor as on the 
palace of the Pharaohs; and shall the tender human heart 
withhold its pure light — which is benevolence — from the 
wretched, only because they are base?” 

“It is the poet Pentaur that speaks,” said the prelate, 
“ and not the priest to whom the privilege was given to 
be initiated into the highest grade of the sages, and whom 
I call my brother and my equal. I have no advantage 
over you, young man, but perishable learning, which the 
past has won for you as much as for me — nothing but cer- 
tain perceptions and experiences that offer nothing new to 
the world, but teach us, indeed, that it is our part to 
maintain all that is ancient in living efficacy and practice. 
That which you promised a few weeks since, 1 many years 
ago vowed to the gods; to guard knowledge as the exclusive 
possession of the initiated. Like fire, it serves those who 
know its uses to the noblest ends, but in the hands of chil- 
dren — and the people, the mob, can never ripen into man- 
hood — it is a destroying brand, raging and inextinguish- 


UARDA. 


19 


able, devouring all around it, and destroying all that has 
been built and beautified by the past. And how can we 
remain ‘ the Sages ’ and continue to develop and absorb all 
learning within the shelter of our temples, not only with- 
out endangering the weak, but for their ‘benefit? You 
know and have sworn to act after that knowledge. To 
bind the crowd to the faith and the institutions of the 
fathers is your duty — is the duty of every priest. Times 
have changed my son; under the old kings the fire, of 
which I spoke figuratively to you — the poet — was inclosed 
in brazen walls which the people passed stupidly by. Now 
I see breaches in the old fortifications; the eyes of the un- 
initiated have been sharpened, and one tells the other what 
he fancies he has spied, though half-blinded, through the 
glowing rifts.” 

A slight emotion had given energy to the tones of the 
speaker, and while he held the poet spell bound with his 
piercing glance he continued: 

“We curse and expel any one of the initiated who en- 
larges these breaches; we punish even the friend who idly 
neglects to repair and close them with beaten brass!” 

“ My father!” cried Pentaur, raising his head in aston- 
ishment while the blood mounted to his cheeks. 

The high-priest went up to him and laid both hands on 
his shoulders. 

They were of equal height and of equally symmetrical 
build; even the outline of their features was similar. Nev- 
ertheless no one would have taken them to be even dis- 
tantly related; their countenances were so infinitely unlike 
in expression. 

On the face of one were stamped a strong will and the 
power of firmly guiding his life and commanding himself; 
on the other, an amiable desire to overlook the faults and 
defects of the world, and to contemplate life as it painted 
itself in the transfiguring magic-mirror of his poet’s soul. 
Frankness and enjoyment spoke in his sparkling eye, but 
the subtle smile on his lips when he Avas engaged in a dis- 
cussion, or when his soul was stirred, betrayed that Pentaur, 
far from childlike carelessness, had fought many a severe 
mental battle, and had tasted the dark waters of doubt. 

At this moment mingled feelings were struggling in his 
soul. He felt as if he must withstand the speaker; and yet 


20 


UARDA. 


the powerful presence of the other exercised so strong an 
influence over his mind, long trained to submission, that 
he was silent, and a pious thrill passed through him when 
Ameni’s hands were laid on his shoulders. 

“ I blame ’you,” said the high-priest, while he firmly 
held the young man, “nay, to my sorrow I must chastise 
you; and yet,” he said, stepping back and taking his' right 
hand, “ I rejoice in the necessity: fori love you and honor 
you, as one whom the Unnameable has blessed with high 
gifts and destined to great things. Man leaves a weed to r 
grow unheeded or roots it up; but you are a noble tree, and 
I am like the gardener who has forgotten to provide it with 
a prop, and who is now thankful to have detected a bend 
that reminds him of his neglect. You look at me inquir- 
ingly, and I can see in your eyes that I seem to you a 
severe judge. Of what are you accused? You have suf-/ 
fered an institution of the past to be set aside. It does not 
matter-*-so the short-sighted and heedless think; but I 
say to you, You have doubly transgressed, because the 
wrong-doer was the king’s daughter, whom all look up to, 
great and small, and whose actions may serve as an ex- 
ample to the people. On whom then must a breach of the 
ancient institutions lie with the darkest stain if not on the 
highest in rank? In a few days it will be said the paraschites j 
arejnen even as we are, and the old law to avoid them as 
unclean is folly. And will the reflections of the people, 

, think you, end there, when it is so easy for them to say that 
me who errs in one point may as well fail in all? I n qu estions 
of faith, my son, nothing is insignificant. If we~open one 
tower to the enemy he is master of the whole fortress. In 
these unsettled times our sacred lore is like a chariot on the 
declivity of a precipice, and under the wheels thereof a stone. 

A child takes away the stone, and the chariot rolls down 
into the abyss and is dashed in pieces. Imagine the 
princess to be that child, and the stone a loaf that she 
would fain give to feed a beggar. Would you then give 
it to her if your father and your mother and all that is 
dear and precious to you were in the chariot? Answer 
not! the princess will visit the paraschites again to-morrow. 
You must await her in the man’s hut, and there inform 
her that she has transgressed and must crave to be puri- 
fied by us. For this time you are excused from any further 


VARDA. 


21 


punishment. Heaven has bestowed on you a gifted soul. 
Strive for that which is wanting to you — the strength to 
subdue, to crush for One — and you know that One — all 
things else — even the misguiding voice of your heart, the 
treacherous voice of your judgment. But stay! send 
leeches to the house of the paraschites, and desire them 
to treat the injured girl as though she were the queen 
herself. Who knows where the man dwells?” 

“ The princess,” replied Pentaur, “ has left Paaker, the 
king’s pioneer, behind in the temple to conduct the leeches 
to the house of Pinem.” 

The grave high-priest smiled and said, “ Paaker! to 
attend the daughter of a paraschites.” 

Pentaur half beseechingly and half in fun raised his 
eyes which he had kept cast down. “ And Pentaur,” he 
murmured, the gardener’s son! who is to refuse absolution 
to the king’s daughter!” 

“ Pentaur, the minister of the gods — Pentaur, the 
priest — has not to do with the daughter of the king, 
but with the transgressor of the sacred institutions,” 
replied Ameni, gravely. “ Let Paaker know I wish to speak 
with him.” 

The poet bowed low and quitted the room, the high- 
priest muttered to himself: “ He is not yet what he should 
be, and speech is of no effect with him.” 

For a while he was silent, walking to and fro in medita- 
tion; then he said half aloud: “And the boy is destined 
to great things. What gift of the gods does he lack? 
He has the faculty of learning, of thinking, of feeling, of 
winning all hearts, even mine. He keeps himself unde- 
filed and separate ” suddenly the prelate paused and 

struck his hand on the back of a chair that stood by him. 
“I have it; he has not yet felt the fire of ambition. We 
will light it, for his profit and our own.” 


CHAPTER III. 

Pentaur hastened to execute the commands of the high- 
priest. He sent a servant to escort Paaker, who was wait- 
ing in the forecourt, into the presence of Ameni, while 


22 


VARDA. 


he himself repaired to the physicians to impress on them 
the most watchful care of the unfortunate girl. 

Many proficients in the healing arts* were brought up 
in the House of Seti, but few used to remain after passing 
the examination for the degree of Scribe. The most gifted 
were sent to Heliopolis, where flourished, in the great 
“ Hall of the Ancients,” the most celebrated medical fac- 
ulty of the whole country, whence they returned to Thebes, 
endowed with the highest honors in surgery, in ocular 
treatment, or in any other branch of their profession, and 
became physicians to the king or made a living by impart- 
ing their learning and by being called in to consult on 
serious cases. 

Naturally most of the doctors lived on the east bank of 
the Nile, in Thebes proper, and even in private houses 
with their families; but each was attached to a priestly 
college. 

Whoever required a physician sent for him, not to his 
own house, but to a temple. There a statement was re- 
quired of the complaint from which the sick person was 
suffering, and it was left to the principal of the medical 
staff of the sanctuary to select that master of the healing- 
art whose special knowledge appeared to him to be suited 
for the treatment of the case. 

Like all priests, the physicians lived on the income 
which came to them from their landed property, from the 
gifts of the king, the contributions of the laity, and the 
share which was given them of the state-revenues; they 
expected no honorarium from their patients, but the re- 
stored sick seldom neglected making a present to the sanc- 
tuary whence a physician had come to them, and it was not 
unusual for the priestly leech to make the recovery of the 
sufferer conditional on certain gifts to be offered to the 
temple. 

The medical knowledge of the Egyptians was, according 

* What is liere*stated with regard to the medical schools is princi- 
pally derived from the medical writings of the Egyptians themselves, 
among which the “ Ebers Papyrus” holds the first place, “ Medical 
Papyrus I,” of Berlin the second, and a hieratic MS. in London 
which, like the first mentioned, has come down to us from the 
18th dynasty, takes the third. Also see Herodotus IT. 84. Diodorus 
I. 82. 


UARDA. 


23 


to every indication, very considerable; but it was natural 
that physicians, who stood by the bed of sickness as 
“ ordained servants of the Divinity,” should not be satis- 
fied with a rational treatment of the sufferer, and should 
rather think that they could not dispense with the mys- 
tical effects of prayers and vows. 

Among the professors of medicine in the House of Seti 
there were men of the most different gifts and bent of 
mind; but Pentaur was not for a moment in doubt as to 
which should be intrusted with the treatment of the girl 
who had been run over, and for whom he felt the greatest 
sympathy. 

The one he chose was the grandson of a celebrated leech, 
long since dead, whose name of Nebsecht he had inherited,’ 
and a beloved school-friend and old comrade of Pentaur. 

This young man had from his earliest years shown high 
and hereditary talent for the profession to which he had 
devoted himself; he had selected surgery * for his special 
province at Heliopolis, and would certainly have attained 
the dignity of teacher there if an impediment in his 
speech had not debarred him from the viva voce recitation 
of formulas and prayers. 

This circumstance, which was deeply lamented by his 
parents and tutors, was in fact, in the best opinions, an 
advantage to him; for it often happens that apparent 
superiority does us damage, and that from apparent 
defect springs the saving of our life. 

Thus while the companions of Nebsecht were employed 
in declaiming or in singing, he, thanks to his fettered 
tongue, could give himself up to his inherited and almost 
passionate love of observing organic life; and his teachers 
indulged up to a certain point his innate spirit of investi- 
gation, and derived benefit from his knowledge of the 
human and animal structures, and from the dexterity of 
his handling. 

His deep aversion to the magical part of his profession 
would have brought him heavy punishment, nay very 
likely would have cost him expulsion from the craft, if he 

* Among the six hermetic books of medicine mentioned by Clement, 
of Alexandria, was one devoted to surgical instruments; otherwise 
the very badly-set fractures found in some of the mummies do little 
honor to the Egyptian surgeons. 


u 


UARDA. 


had ever given it expression in any form. But Neb- 
sechPs was the silent and reserved nature of the learned 
man, who, free from all desire of external recognition, 
finds a rich satisfaction in the delights of investigation; 
and he regarded every demand on him to give proof of his 
capacity as a vexatious but unavoidable intrusion on his 
unassuming but laborious and fruitful investigations. 

Nebsecht was nearer and dearer to Pentaur than any 
other of his associates. 

He admired his learning and skill; and when the slightly- 
built surgeon, who was indefatigable in his wanderings, 
roved through the thickets of the Nile, the desert, or the 
mountain range, the young poet-priest accompanied him 
with pleasure and with great benefit to himself, for his 
companion observed a thousand things to which without 
him he would have remained forever blind; and the ob- 
jects around him, which were known to him only by their 
shapes, derived connection and significance from the ex- 
planations of the naturalist, whose intractable tongue 
moved freely when it was required to expound to his friend 
the peculiarities of organic beings whose development he 
had been the first to detect. 

The poet was dear in the sight of Nebsecht, and he 
loved Pentaur, who possessed all the gifts he lacked; manly 
beauty, childlike lightness of heart, the frankest openness, 
artistic power, and the gift of expressing in word and song 
every emotion that stirred his soul. 

The poet was as a novice in the order in which Nebsecht 
was master, but quite capable of understanding its most 
difficult points; so it happened that Nebsecht attached 
greater value to his judgment than to that of his own 
colleagues, who showed tliemselves fettered by prejudice, 
while PentauPs decision always was free and unbiased. 

The naturalises room lay on the ground floor, and had 
no living rooms above it, being under one of the granaries 
attached to the temple. It was as large as a public hall, 
and yet Pentaur, making his way toward the silent owner 
of the room, found it everywhere strewed with thick bun- 
dles of every variety of plant, with cages of palm-twigs 
piled four or five feet high, and a number of jars, large 
and small, covered with perforated paper. Within these 
prisons moved all sorts of living creatures, from the jerboa. 


UAHDA. 


25 

the lizard of the Nile, and a light-colored species of owl, 
to numerous specimens of frogs, snakes, scorpions and 
beetles. 

On the solitary table in the middle of the room, near to 
a writing-stand, lay bones of animals, with various sharp 
flints and bronze knives. 

In a corner of this room lay a mat, on which stood a 
wooden head-prop, indicating that the naturalist was in 
the habit of sleeping on it. 

When Pen tau r’s step was heard on the threshold of this 
strange abode, its ovhier pushed a rather large object under 
the table, threw a cover over it, and hid a sharp flint 
scalpel* fixed into a wooden handle, which he had just 
been using, in the folds of his robe — as a school - boy 
might hide some forbidden game from his master. Then 
he crossed his arms, to give himself the aspect of a man 
who is dreaming in harmless idleness. 

The solitary lamp, which was fixed on a high stand near 
his chair, shed a scanty light, which, however, sufficed 
to show him his trusted friend Pentaur, who had dis- 
turbed Nebsecht in his prohibited occupations. Nebsecht 
nodded to him as he entered, and, when he had seen who 
it was, said : 

“ You need not have frightened me so!” Then he drew 
out from under the table the object he had hidden — a 
living rabbit fastened down to a board — and continued his 
interrupted observations on the body, which he had opened 
and fastened back with wooden pins while the heart con- 
tinued to beat. 

He took no further notice of Pentaur, who for some 
time silently watched the investigator; then he laid his 
hand on his shoulder and said: 

“Lock your door more carefully when you are busy 
with forbidden things.” 

“ They took — they took away the bar of the door lately,” 
stammered the naturalist, “ when they caught me dissect- 
ing the hand of the forger Ptahmes ” 

“The mummy of the poor man will find its right hand 
wanting,” answered the poet. 

* The Egyptians seem to have preferred to use flint instruments for 
surgical purposes, at any rate for the opening of bodies and for 
circumcision. Many flint instruments have been found and preserved 
in museums. 


26 


VARDA. 


“ He will not want it out there.” 

<5 Did you bury the least bit of an image in his grave?” 

“ Nonsense!” 

“You go very far, Nebsecht, and are not foreseeing. 
‘ He who needlessly hurts an innocent animal shall be 
served in the same way by the spirits of the nether-world/ 
says the law; but I see what you will say. You hold it 
lawful to put a beast to pain, when you can thereby in- 
crease that knowledge by which you alleviate the sufferings 
of man, and enrich ” 

“And do not you?” 

A gentle smile passed over Pen tail r’s face; he leaned 
over the animal and said : 

“How curious! the little beast still lives and breathes; 
a man would have long been dead under such treatment. 
His organism is perhaps of a more precious, subtle, and so 
more fragile nature?” 

Nebsecht shrugged his shoulders. 

“Perhaps!” he said. 

“I thought you must know.” 

“I — how should I?” asked the leech. “I have told 
you — they would not even let me try to find out how the 
hand of a forger moves.” 

“ Consider, the Scripture tells us the passage of the soul 
depends on the preservation of the body.” 

Nebsecht looked up with his cunning little eyes, and 
shrugging his shoulders, said: 

“ Then no doubt it is so; however, these things do not 
concern me. Do what you like with the souls of men; I 
seek to know something of their bodies, and patch them 
when they are damaged as well as may be.” 

“ Nay — Toth* be praised, at least you need not deny 
that you are master in that art.” 

“Who is master,” asked Nebsecht, “excepting God? 
I can do nothing, nothing at all, and guide my instruments 

* Toth is the god of the learned and of physicians. The Ibis was 
sacred to him, and he was usually represented as Ibis-headed. Ra 
created him “ a beautiful light to show the name of his evil enemy.” 
Originally the Moon-god, he became the lord of time and measure. 
He is the weigher, the philosopher among the gods, the lord of writ- 
ing, of art and of learning. The Greeks called him Hermes Tris- 
megistos, i. e ., threefold or “very great,” which was, in fact, in 
imitation of the Egyptians, whose name Toth or Techuti signified 
twofold, in the same way “ very great.” 


VAUDA. 


with hardly more certainty than a sculptor condemned to 
work in the dark.” 

“ Something like the blind Resu then,” said Pentaur, 
smiling, “ who understood painting better than all the 
painters who could see.” 

“ In my operations there is a ‘better" and a ‘worse;"” 
said Nebsecht, “ but there is nothing ‘ good. """ 

“ Then we must be satisfied with the ‘ better," and I have 
come to claim it,” said Pentaur. 

“ Are you ill?” 

“ Isis be praised, I feel so well that I could uproot a 
palm-tree, but I would ask you to visit a sick girl. The 
Princess Bent-Anat "" 

“ The royal family has its own physicians.” 

“ Let me speak! the Princess Bent-Anat has run over a 
young girl, and the. poor child is seriously hurt.” 

“ Indeed,” said the student, reflectively. “ Is she ovei 
there in the city, or here in the Necropolis?” 

“Here. She is in fact the daughter of a paraschites.” 

“Of a paraschites?” exclaimed Nebsecht, once more 
slipping the rabbit under the table, “ then I will go.” 

“ You strange fellow. I believe you expect to find 
something strange among the unclean folk.” 

“ That is my affair; but I will go. What is the man’s 
name?” 

“ Pinem.” 

“ There will be nothing to be done with him,” muttered 
the student, “however — who knows?” 

With these words he rose, and opening a tightly closed 
flask he dropped some strychnine* on the nose and" in the 
mouth of the rabbit, which immediately ceased to breathe. 
Then he laid it in a box and said, “ I am ready.” 

“ But you cannot go out of doors in this stained dress.” 

The physician nodded assent, and took from a chest a 
clean robe, which he was about to throw on over the other; 
but Pentaur hindered him. “ First take off your work- 
ing dress,” he said, laughing. “ I will help you. But by 
Besa, f you have as many coats as an onion.” 

* Strychnine was a poison well known to the Egyptians, 
f The god of the toilet of the Egyptians. He was represented as 
a deformed pigmy. He led the women to conquest in love, and the 
men in war. He was probably of Arab origin. 


28 


UARDA. 


Pentaur was known as a mighty laugher among his com- 
panions, and his loud voice rung in the quiet room, when 
he discovered that his friend was about to put a third clean 
robe over two dirty ones, and wear no less than three 
dresses at once. 

Nebsecht laughed too, and said, “Now I know why my 
clothes were so heavy, and felt so intolerably hot at noon. 
While I get rid of my superfluous clothing, will you go and 
ask the high-priest if I have leave to quit the temple.” 

“ He commissioned me to send a leech to the paraschites, 
and added that the girl was to be treated like a queen. 

“ Ameni ! and did he know that we have to do with a 
paraschites?” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Then I shall begin to believe that broken limbs may 
.be set with vows — ay, vows! You know I cannot go alone 
to the sick, because my leather tongue is unable to recite 
the sentences or to wring rich offerings for the temple from 
the dying. Go, while I undress, to the prophet Gagabu 
and beg him to send the pastophorus Teta, who usually 
accompanies me.” 

“ I would seek a young assistant rather, than that blind 
old man.” 

“ Not at all. I should be glad if he would stay at home, 
and only let his tongue creep after me like an eel or a slug. 
Head and heart have nothing to do with his wordy opera- \ 
tions, and they go on like an ox treading out corn.”* 

“It is true,” said Pentaur; “just lately I saw the old 
man singing out his litanies by a sick-bed, and all the time 
quietly counting the dates, of which they had given him a 
whole sack-full.” 

“He will be unwilling to go to the paraschites, who is 
poor, and he would sooner seize the whole brood of scor- 
pions yonder than take a piece of bread from the hand of 
the unclean. Tell him to come and fetch me, and drink 
some wine. There stands three days' allowance; in this . 
hot weather it dims my sight. Does the paraschites live to 
the north or south of the Necropolis?” 

* In Egypt, as in Palestine, beasts trod out the corn, as we learn 
from many pictures in the catacombs, even in the remotest ages; 
often with the addition of a weighted sledge, to the runners of which 
rollers are attached. It is now called noreg. 


UARDA. 


29 


“ I think to the north. Paaker, the king’s pioneer, will 
show you the way.” 

“ He!” exclaimed the student, laughing. “What day 
in the calendar is this, then?* The child of a paraschites 
is to be tended like a princess, and a leech have a noble to 
guide him, like the Pharaoh himself ! I ought to have 
kept on my three robes!” 

“ The night is warm,” said Pentaur. 

“ But Paaker has strange ways with him. Only the day 
before yesterday I was called to a poor boy whose collar 
bone he had simply smashed with a stick. If I had been 
the princess’ horse I would rather have trodden him down 
than a poor little girl.” 

“So would I,” said Pentaur, laughing, and left the room 
to request the second prophet Gagabu, who was also the 
head of the medical staff of the House of Seti, to send the 
blind pastophorusf Teta, with his friend, as singer of the 
litany. 


CHAPTER IV. 

Pentaur knew where to seek Gagabu, for he himself had 
been invited to the banquet which the prophet had pre- 
pared in honor of two sages who had lately come to the 
House of Seti from the university of Chennu.J 

In an open court, surrounded by gayly-painted wooden 
pillars, and lighted by many lamps, sat the feasting priests 
in two long rows on comfortable arm-chairs. Before each 
stood a little table, and servants were occupied in supply- 
ing them with the dishes and drinks, which ^were laid out 
on a splendid table in the middle of the court. Joints of 


* Calendars have been preserved; the completest is the papyrus 
Sallier IV, which has been admirably treated by F. Chabas. Many 
days are noted as lucky, unlucky, etc. In the temples many Calen- 
dars of feasts have been found, the most perfect at Medinet Abu, 
deciphered by Diimich. 

f The Pastophori were an order of priests to which the physicians 
belonged. 

\ Chennu was situated on a bend of the Nile, not far from the 
Nubian frontier; it is now called Gebel Silsileh ; it was in very 
ancient times the seat of a celebrated seminary. 


30 


UARDA. 


gazelle,* roast geese and ducks, meat pasties, artichokes, 
asparagus and other vegetables, and various cakes and 
sweetmeats were carried to the guests, and their beakers 
well-filled with the choice wines of which there was never 
any lack in the lofts of the House of Seti.f In the 
spaces between the guests stood servants with metal bowls, 
in which they might wash their hands, and towels of fine 
linen. 

When their hunger was appeased, the wine flowed more 
freely, and each guest was decked with sweetly-smelling 
flowers, whose odor was supposed to add to the vivacity of 
the conversation. 

Many of the sharers in this feast wore long, snow-white 
garments, and were of the class of the Initiated into the 
mysteries of the faith, as well as chiefs of the different 
orders of priests of the House of Seti. 

The second prophet, Gagabu, who was to-day charged 
with the conduct of the feast by Ameni — who on such oc- 
casions only showed himself for a few minutes — was a 
short, stout man with a bald and almost spherical head. 
His features were those of a man of advancing years, but 
well formed, and his smoothly shaven, plump cheeks were 
well rounded. His gray eyes looked out cheerfully and 
observantly, but had a vivid sparkle when he «was excited, 
and began to twitch his thick, sensual mouth. 

Close by him stood the vacant, highly-ornamented chair 
of the high-priest, and next to him sat the priests arrived 
from Chennu, two tall, dark-colored old men. The re- 
mainder of the company was arranged in the order of 
precedency, which they held in the priests* colleges, and 
which bore no relation to their respective ages. 

But strictly as the guests were divided with reference to 
their rank, they mixed without distinction in the conver- 
sation. 

“ We know how to value our call to Thebes/* said the 
elder of the strangers from Chennu, Tuauf, whose essays 

* Gazelles were tamed for domestic animals; we find them in the 
representations of the herds of the wealthy Egyptians and as 
slaughtered for food. The banquet is described from the pictures of 
feasts which have been found in the tombs. 

f Cellars maintain the mean temperature of the climate, and in 
Egypt are hot. Wine is best preserved in shady and airy lofts. 


UARDA. 


31 


were frequently used in the schools; “for while, on one 
hand, it brings us into the neighborhood of the Pharaoh, 
where life, happiness, and safety flourish, on the other it 
procures us the honor of counting ourselves among your 
number; for, though the university of Cliennu in former 
times was so happy as to bring up many great men, whom 
she could call her own, she can no longer compare with the 
House of Seti. Even Heliopolis and Memphis are behind 
you; and if I, my humble self, nevertheless venture boldly 
among you, it is because I ascribe your success as much to 
the active influence of the Divinity in your temple, which 
may promote my acquirements and achievements, as to 
your great gifts and your industry, in which I will not be 
behind you. I have already seen your high-priest Ameni — 
what a man! And who does not know thy name, Gagabu, 
or thine, Meriapu?” 

“ And which of you,” asked the other new-comer, “ may 
we greet as the author of the most beautiful hvmn to 
Amon, which was ever sung in the land of the Sycamore? 
Which of you is Pentaur?” 

“ The empty chair yonder,” answered Gagabu, pointing 
to a seat at the lower end of the table, “ is his. He is the 
youngest of us all, but a great future awaits him.” 

“ And his Songs,” added the elder of the strangers. 

“ Without doubt,” replied the chief of the haruspices, 
an old man with a large gray curly head, that seemed too 
heavy for his thin neck, which stretched forward — perhaps 
from the habit of constantly watching for signs — while his 
prominent eyes glowed with a fanatical gleam. “ Without 
doubt the gods have granted great gifts to our young 
friend; but it remains to be proved how he will use them. 
I perceive a certain freedom of thought in the youth, 
which pains me deeply. Although in his poems his flexi- 
ble style certainly follows the prescribed forms, his ideas 
transcend all tradition, and even in the hymns intended 
for the ears of the people I find turns of thought, which 
might well be called treason to the mysteries which only a 
few months ago he swore to keep secret. For instance he 
says — and we sing — and the laity hear — 

t 

“One only art Thou, Thou Creator of beings; 

And Thou only makest all that is created. 


UA11DA. 


32 

And again — 

He is one only, Alone, without equal; 

Dwelling alone in the holiest of holies.” * 

“ Such passages as these ought not to be sung in public, 
at least in times like ours, when new ideas come in upon 
us from abroad, like the swarms of locusts from the East.” 

“ Spoken to my very soul!” cried the treasurer of the 
temple; “ Ameni initiated this boy too early into the 
mysteries.” 

“ In my opinion, and I am his teacher,” said Gagabu, 
“our brotherhood may be proud of a member who adds so 
brilliantly to the fame of our temple. The people hear 
the hymns without looking closely at the meaning of the 
words. I never saw the congregation more devout than 
when the beautiful and deeply-felt song of praise was sung 
at the feast of the stairs, f 

“Pentaur was always thy favorite,” said the former 
speaker. “Thou wouldst not permit in any one else many 
things that are allowed to him. His hymns are neverthe- 
less to me and to many others a dangerous performance, 
and canst thou dispute the fact that we have grounds for 
grave anxiety, and that things happen and circumstances 
grow up around us which hinder us, and at last may per- 
haps crush us, if we do not, while there is yet time, inflexi- 
bly oppose them?” 

“ Thou bringest sand to the desert, and sugar to sprinkle 
over honey,” exclaimed Gagabu, and his lips began to 
twitch. “ Nothing is now as it ought to be, and there will 
be a hard battle to fight; not with the sword, but with this — 
and this.” And the impatient man touched his forehead 
and his lips. “And who is there more competent than 
my disciple? There is the champion of our cause, a second 
cap of Hor, that overthrew the evil one with winged sun- 
beams, and you come and would clip his wings and blunt 
his claws! Alas, alas, my lords! will you never understand 
that a lion roars louder than a cat, and the sun shines 


* Hymn to Amon preserved in a papyrus-roll at Bulaq, and deci- 
phered by Grebaut and L. Stern. 

f A particularly solemn festival in honor of Amon-Chem, held in 
the temple of Medinet-Abu. 


UARDA. 


33 


brighter than an oil-lamp? Let Pentaur alone, I say; or 
you will do as the man did, who, for fear of the toothache, 
had his sound teeth drawn. Alas, alas! in the years to 
come we shall have to bite deep into* the flesh, till the 
blood flows, if we wish to escape being eaten up ourselves!” 

“ The enemy is not unknown to us also,” said the elder 
priest from Chennu, “although we, on the remote southern 
frontier of the kingdom, have escaped many evils that in 
the north have eaten into our body like a cancer. Here 
foreigners are now hardly looked upon at all as unclean 
and devilish.”* 

“Hardly?” exclaimed the chief of the haruspices; “they 
are invited, caressed, and honored. Like dust, when the 
simoon blows through the chinks of a wooden house, they 
crowd into the houses and temples, taint our manners and 
language; nay, on the throne of the successors of Ra sits a 
descendant ” 

“ Presumptuous man !” cried the voice of the high- 
priest, who at this instant entered the hall. “ Hold your 
tongue, and be not so bold as to wag it against him who is 
our king, and wields the sceptre in this kingdom as the 
Vicar of Ra.” 

The speaker bowed and was silent; then he and all the 
company rose to greet Ameni, who bowed to them all with 
polite dignity, took his seat, and turning to Gagabu asked 
him carelessly: 

“ 1 find you all in most unpriestly excitement; what has 
disturbed your equanimity?” 

“We were discussing the overwhelming influx of 
foreigners into Egypt, and the necessity of opposing some 
resistance to them.” 

“ You will find me one of the foremost in the attempt,” 
replied Ameni. “We have endured much already, and 
news has arrived from the north which grieves me deeply.” 

“Have our troops sustained a defeat?” 

“ They continue to be victorious, but thousands of our 
countrymen have fallen victims in the fight or on the 
march. Rameses demands fresh reinforcements. The 
pioneer, Paaker, has brought me a letter from our brethren 
who accompany the king, and delivered a document from 


* “ Typlionisch,” belonging to Typlion or Seth. — Translator. 


34 


UARDA. 


him to the Regent, which contains the order to send to 
him fifty thousand fighting men; and as the whole of the 
soldier-caste and all the auxiliaries are already under arms, 
the bondmen of th*e temple, who till our acres, are to be 
levied, and sent into Asia.” 

A murmur of disapproval arose atr these words. The 
chief of the liaruspices stamped his foot, and Gagabu 
asked: 

“ What do you mean to do?” 

“To prepare to obey the commands of the king,” 
answered Ameni, “and to call the heads of the temples of 
the city of Amon here without delay to hold a council. 
Each must first in his holy of holies seek good counsel of 
the Celestials. When we have come to a conclusion, we 
must next win the Viceroy over to our side. Who yester- 
day assisted at his prayers?” 

“ It was my turn,” said the chief of the liaruspices. 

“ Follow me to my abode when the meal is over,” com- 
manded Ameni. “ But why is our poet missing from 'our 
circle?” 

At this moment Pentaur came into the hall, and while 
he bowed easily and with dignity to the company and low 
before Ameni, he prayed him to grant that the pastophorus 
Ieta should accompany the leech Nebsecht to visit the 
daughter of the paraschites. 

Ameni nodded consent and exclaimed : “ They must 
make haste. Paaker waits for them at the great gate, and 
will accompany them in my chariot.” 

As soon as Pentaur had left the party of feasters, the old 
priest from Chennu exclaimed, as he turned to Ameni: 

“ Indeed, holy father, just such a one and no other had 
I pictured your poet. He is like the Sun-god, and his 
demeanor is that of a prince. He is no doubt of noble 
birth.” 

“ His father is a homely gardener,” said the high-priest, 
“who indeed tills the land apportioned to him with in- 
dustry and prudence, but is of humble birth and rough ex- 
terior. He sent Pentaur to the school* at an early age, 
and we have brought up the wonderfully gifted boy to be 
what he now is.” 

* It is certain from tlie papyri that people of the lower orders could 
be received into the priesthood. Separate castes like those of the 
Hindoos were unknown to the Egyptians. 


UARDA. 


35 


“ What office does he fill here in the temple?” 

“ He instructs the elder pupils of the high-school in 
grammar and eloquence; he is also an excellent observer of 
the starry heavens, and a most skilled interpreter of 
dreams,” replied Gagabu. “But here he is again. To 
whom is Paaker conducting our stammering physician and 
his assistant?” 

“ To the daughter of the paraschites, who has been run 
oyer,” answered Pentaur. “ But what a rough fellow this 
pioneer is. His voice hurts my ears; and he spoke to our 
leeches as if they had been his slaves.” 

“ He was vexed with the commission the princess had 
devolved on him,” said the high priest benevolently, “and 
his unamiable disposition is hardly mitigated by his real 
piety. ” 

“And yet,” said an old priest, “ his brother, who left us 
some years ago, and who had chosen me for his guide and 
teacher, was a particularly lovable and docile youth.” 

“ And his father,” said Ameni, “ was one of the most 
superior, energetic, and withal subtle-minded of men.” 

“ Then he has derived his bad peculiarities from his 
mother?” 

“ By no means. She is a timid, amiable, soft-hearted 
woman. * 

“But must the child always resemble its parents?” 
asked Pentaur. “Among the sons of the sacred bull, 
sometimes not one bears the distinguishing mark of his 
father.” 

“And if Paaker's father were indeed an Apis,” said 
Gagabu, laughing, “ according to your view the pioneer 
himself belongs, alas! to the peasant's stable.” 

Pentaur did not contradict him, but said with a smile: 

“ Since he left the school - bench, where his school- 
fellows called him the wild ass on account of his unruli- 
ness, he has remained always the same. He was stronger 
than most of them, and yet they knew no greater pleasure 
than putting him in a rage.” 

“Children are so cruel!” said Ameni. “They judge 
only by appearances, and never inquire into the causes of 
them. The deficient are as guilty in their eyes as the idle, 
and Paaker could put forward small claims to their in- 
dulgence. I encourage freedom and merriment,” he con- 


36 


UARDA. 


tinued, turning to the priests from Chennu, “ among our 
disciples, for in fettering the fresh enjoyment of youth we 
lmne our best assistant. The excrescences on the natural 
growth of boys cannot be more surely or painlessly extir- 
pated than in their wild games. The school-bov is the 
school-boy’s best tutor.” 

“But Paaker,” said the priest Meriapu, “was not im- 
proved by the provocations of his companions. Constant 
contests with them increased that roughness which now 
makes him the terror of his subordinates and alienates all 
affection.” 

“He is the most unhappy of all the many youths who 
were intrusted to my care,” said Aineni, “and I believe I 
know why — he never had a child-like disposition, even 
when in years he was still a child, and the gods had 
denied him the heavenly gift of good-humor. Youth 
should be modest, and he was assertive from his childhood. 
He took the sport of his companions for earnest, and his 
father, who was unwise only as a tutor, encouraged him to 
resistance instead of to forbearance, in the idea that he 
thus would be steeled to the hard life of a Mohar.”* 

“ I have often heard the deeds of the Mohar spoken of,” 
said the old priest from Chennu, “yet I do not exactly 
know what his office requires of him.” 

“ He has to wander among the ignorant and insolent 
people of hostile provinces, and to inform himself of the 
kind and number of the population, to investigate the 
direction of the mountains, valleys, and rivers, to set 
forth his observations, and to deliver them to the house 
of war,f so that the march of the troops may be guided by 
them.” 

“ The Mohar, then, must be equally skilled as a warrior 
and as a scribe.” 

“ As thou sayest; and Paaker’s father was not a hero 
only, but at the same time a writer, whose close and clear 
information depicted the country through which he had 


* The severe duties of the Mohar are well known from the papyrus 
of Anastasi I in the British Museum, which has been ably treated by 
F. Chabas, Voyage d’un Egyptien. 

f Corresponding to our minister of war. A person of the highest 
importance even in the earliest times. 


UAUDA. 


37 


traveled as plainly as if it were seen from a mountain 
height. He was the first who took the title of Moliar. 
The king held him in such high esteem that he was the 
inferior to no one but the king himself, and the minister 
of the house of war." 

“Was he of noble race?" 

“ Of one of the oldest and noblest in the country. His 
father was the noble warrior Assa," answered the liarus- 
pex, “and he therefore, after he himself had attained the 
highest consideration and vast wealth, escorted home the 
niece of the King Hor-em-heb, who would have had a 
claim to the throne, as well as the Regent, if the grand- 
father of the present Rameses had not seized it from the 
old family by violence." 

“Be careful of your words," said Ameni, interrupting 
the rash old man. “ Rameses I was and is the grand- 
father of our sovereign, and in the king’s veins, from his 
mother’s side, flows the blood of the legitimate descendants 
of the Sun-god." 

“ But fuller and purer in those of the Regent," the har- 
uspex ventured to retort. 

“But Rameses wears the crown," cried Ameni, “and 
will continue to wear it so long as it pleases the gods. 
Reflect! — your hairs are gray, and seditious words are like 
sparks, which are borne by the wind, but which, if they 
fall, may set our home in a blaze. Continue your feasting, 
my lords; but I would request you to speak no more this 
evening of the king and his new decree. You, Pentaur, 
fulfill my ^orders to-morrow morning with energy and 
prudence." 

The high-priest bowed and left the feast. 

As soon as the door was shut behind him, the old priest 
from Chennu spoke. 

“ What we have learned concerning the pioneer of the 
king, a man who holds so high an office, surprises me. 
Does he distinguish himself by a special acuteness?" 

“ He was a steady learner, but of moderate ability." 

“ Is the rank of Mohar then as high as that of a prince 
of the empire?" 

“ By no means." 

“ How then is it ?" 

“ It is, as it is," interrupted Gagabu. “The son of the 


TJAUDA. 


38 

vine-dresser has his mouth full of grapes, and the child of 
the door-keeper opens the lock with words . ” 

“ Never mind,” said an old priest who had hitherto kept 
silence. “Paaker earned for himself the post of Mohar, 
and possesses many praiseworthy qualities. He is inde- 
fatigable and faithful, quails before no danger, and has 
always been earnestly devout from his boyhood. When 
the other scholars carried their pocket-money to the fruit- 
sellers and confectioners at the temple gates, he would buy 
geese, and, when his mother sent him a handsome sum, young 
gazelles, to offer to the gods on the altars. No noble in 
the land owns a greater treasure of charms and images of 
the gods than he. To the present time he is the most 
pious of men, and the offerings for the dead, which he 
brings in the name of his late father, may be said to be 
positively kingly.” 

“ We owe him gratitude for these gifts,” said the treas- 
urer, “and the high honor he pays his father even after 
his death is exceptional and far-famed.” 

“He emulates him in every respect,” sneered Gagabu; 
“and though he does not resemble him in any feature, 
grows more and more like him. But unfortunately it is as 
the goose resembles the swan, or the owl resembles the 
eagle. For his father's noble pride he has overbearing 
haughtiness; for kindly severity, rude harshness; for dignity, 
conceit; for perseverance, obstinacy. Devout he is, and 
we profit by his gifts. The treasurer may rejoice over them, 
and the dates off a crooked tree taste as well as those off a 
straight one. But if I were the Divinity I should prize 
them no higher than a hoopoe's crest; for He, who sees 
into the heart of the giver — alas! what does he see! Storms 
and darkness are of the dominion of Seth, and in 
there— in there,” and the old man struck his broad breast, 
“all is wrath and tumult, and there is not a gleam of the 
calm blue heaven of Ra that shines soft and pure in the 
soul of the pious; no, not a spot as large as this wheaten- 
cake.” 

“ Hast thou then sounded to the depths of his soul?” 
asked the haruspex. 

“As this beaker!” exclaimed Gagabu, and he touched 
the rim of an empty drinking-vessel. “ For fifteen years 
without ceasing. The man has been of service to us, 


VAM)A. 


30 

is so still, and will continue to be. Our leeches extract 
salves from bitter gall and deadly poisons; and folks like 
these ” 

Hatred speaks in thee,” said the haruspex, interrupt- 
ing the indignant old man. 

“ Hatred !” he retorted, and his lips quivered. “Hatred ?” 
and he struck his breast with his clenched hand. “ It 
is •true, it is no stranger to this old heart. But open 
thine ears, 0 haruspex, and all you others too shall hear. 
I recognize two sorts of hatred. The one is between man 
and man; that [ have gagged, smothered, killed, annihilated 
— with what efforts, the gods know. In past years I have 
certainly tasted its bitterness, and served it like a wasp, 
which, though it knows that in stinging it must die, yet 
uses its sting. But now I am old in years, that is in 
knowledge, and I know that of all the powerful impulses 
which stir our hearts, one only comes solely from Seth, 
one only belongs wholly to the Evil one — and that is 
hatred between man and man. Covetousness may lead to 
industry, sensual appetites may beget noble fruit, but 
hatred is a devastator, and in the soul that it occupies all 
that is noble grows not upward and toward the light, but 
downward to the earth and to darkness. Everything may 
be forgiven by the gods,” save only hatred between man 
and man. But there is another sort of hatred that is 
pleasing to the gods, and which you must cherish if you 
would not miss their presence in your souls; that is, 
hatred for all that hinders the growth of light and goodness 
and purity — the hatred of Horns of Seth. The gods 
would punish me if I hated Paaker, whose father was 
dear to me; but the spirits of darkness would possess the 
old heart in my breast if it were devoid of horror for 
the covetous and sordid devotee, who would fain buy 
earthly joys of the gods with gifts of beasts and wine, 
as men exchange an ass for a robe, in whose soul seethe 
dark promptings. Paaker’s gifts can no more be pleasing 
to the Celestials than a cask of attar of rose would please 
thee, haruspex, in which scorpions, centipedes, and ven- 
omous snakes were swimming. 1 have long led this man’s 
prayers, and never have I heard him crave for noble gifts, 
but a thousand times for the injury of the men he hates.” 

“In the holiest prayers that come down to ns from 


40 


UAHDA . 


the past,” said the haruspex, “ the gods are entreated 
to throw our enemies under our feet ; and, besides, I 
have often heard Paaker pray fervently for the bliss of 
his parents.” 

“ You are a priest and one of the initiated,” cried 
Gagabu, “and you know not — or will not seem to know — 
that by the enemies for whose overthrow we pray, are 
meant only the demons of darkness and the outlandish 
peoples by whom Egypt is endangered! Paaker prayed for 
his parents? Ay, and so will he for his children, for they 
will be his future as his forefathers are his past. If he 
had a wife, his offerings would be for her too, for she 
would be the half of his own present.” 

“In spite of all this,” said the haruspex Septah, 
“you are too hard in your judgment of Paaker, for 
although he was born under a lucky sign, the Hathors 
denied him all that makes youth happy. The enemy for 
whose destruction he prays is Mena, the king's charioteer, 
and, indeed, he must have been of superhuman magna- 
nimity, or of unmanly feebleness, if he could have wished 
well to the man who robbed him of the beautiful wife who 
was destined for him.” 

“How could that happen?” asked the priest from 
Chennu. i( A betrothal is sacred.” 

“Paaker,” replied Septah, “was attached with all the 
strength of his ungoverned but passionate and faithful 
heart to bis cousin Nefert, the sweetest maid in Thebes, 
the daughter of Katuti, his mother’s sister; and she was 
promised to him to wife. Then his father, whom he ac- 
companied on his marches, was mortally wounded in 
Syria. The king stood by his death-bed, and granting his 
last request, invested his son with his rank and office. 
Paaker Drought the mummy of his father home to Thebes, 
gave him a princely interment, and then before the time 
of mourning was over, hastened back to Syria, where, 
while the king returned to Egypt, it was his duty to re- 
connoiter the new possessions. At last he could quit the 
scene of war with the hope of marrying Nefert. He rode 
his horse to death the sooner to reach the goal of his de- 
sires; but when he reached Tanis, the city of Rameses, the 
news met him that his affianced cousin had been given to 
another, the handsomest and bravest man in Thebes — the 


UARDA. 


41 


noble Mena. The more precious a thing is that we hope 
to possess, the more we are justified in complaining of him 
who contests our claim, and can win it from us. Paaker's 
blood must have been as cold as a frog’s if he could have 
forgiven Mena instead of hating him, and the cattle he has 
offered to the gods to bring down their wrath on the head 
of the traitor may be counted by hundreds.” 

“ And if you accept them, knowing why they are offered, 
you do unwisely and wrongly,” exclaimed Gagabu. “ If I 
were a layman, I would take good care not to worship a 
Divinity who condescends to serve the foulest human ends 
for a reward. But the omniscient Spirit, that rules the 
world in accordance with eternal laws, knows nothing of 
these sacrifices, which only tickle the nostrils of the evil 
one. The treasurer rejoices when a beautiful spotless 
heifer is driven in among our herds. But Seth rubs his 
red hands* with delight that he accepts it. My friends, I 
have heard the vows which Paaker has poured out over 
our pure altars, like hogwash that men set before swine. 
Pestilence and boils has he called down on Mena, and bar- 
renness and heart-ache on the poor sweet woman; and I 
really cannot blame her for preferring a battle-horse to a 
hippopotamus — a Mena to a Paaker.” 

“Yet the Immortals must have thought his remon- 
strances less unjustifiable, and have stricter views as to the 
inviolable nature of a betrothal than you,” said the treas- 
urer, “ for Nefert, during four years of married life, has 
passed only a few weeks with her wandering husband, and 
remains childless. It is hard to me to understand how 
you, Gagabu, who so often absolve where we condemn, 
can so relentlessly judge so great a benefactor to our 
temple.” 

“And I fail to comprehend,” exclaimed the old man, 
“how you — you who so willingly condemn, can so weakly 
excuse this — this — call him what you will.” 

“He is indispensable to us at this time,” said the 
haruspex. 

“ Granted,” said Gagabu, lowering his tone. “ And I 


*Red was the color of Seth and Typlion. The evil one is named 
the Red, as for instance in the papyrus of Ebers. Red-haired men 
Were typhonic. 


42 


UARDA. 


think still to make use of him, as the high-priest has clone 
in past years with the best effect when dangers have threat- 
ened us; and a dirty road serves when he makes for the 
goal. The gods themselves often permit safety to come 
from what -is evil; but shall we therefore call evil good — 
or say the hideous is beautiful? Make use of the king’s 
pioneer as you will, but do not, because you are indebted 
to him for gifts, neglect to judge him according to his im- 
aginings and deeds, if you would deserve your title of the 
Initiated and the Enlightened. Let him bring his cattle 
into our temple and pour his gold into our treasury, but 
do not defile your souls with the thought that the offerings 
of such a heart and such a hand are pleasing to the Divin- 
ity. Above all,” and the voice of the old man had a 
heart-felt impressiveness, “ Above all, do not flatter the 
erring man — and this is what you do — with the idea that 
he is walking in the right way; for your, for our first duty, 
0 my friends, is always this — to guide the souls of those 
who trust in us to goodness and truth.” 

. “ Oh, my master!” cried Pentaur, “how tender is thy 
severity.” 

“ I have shown the hideous sores of this man’s soul,” 
said the old man, as he rose to quit the hall. “Your 
praise will aggravate them, your blame will tend to heal 
them. Nay, if you are not content to do your duty, old 
Gagabu will come some day with his knife, and will throw 
the sick man down and cut out the canker.” 

During this speech the haruspex had frequently 
shrugged his shoulders. Now he said, turning to the 
priests from Chennu: 

“ Gagabu is a foolish, hot-headed old man, and you have 
heard from his lips just such a sermon as the young scribes 
keep by them when they enter on the duties of the care of 
souls. His sentiments are excellent, but he easily over- 
looks small things for the sake of great ones. Ameni 
would tell you that ten souls, no, nor a hundred, do not 
matter when the safety of the whole is in question.” 


UARDA. 


43 


CHAPTER V. 

The night during which the Princess Bent-Anat and 
her followers had knocked at the gate of the House of Seti 
was past. 

The fruitful freshness of the dawn gave way to the heat, 
which began to pour down from the deep-blue cloudless 
vault of heaven. The eye could no longer gaze at the 
mighty globe of light whose rays pierced the fine white 
dust which hung over the declivity of the hills that in- 
closed the City of the Dead on the west. The limestone 
rocks showed with blinding clearness, the atmosphere quiv- 
ered as if heated over a flame; each minute the shadows 
grew shorter and their outlines sharper. 

All the beasts which we saw peopling the Necropolis in 
the evening had now withdrawn into their lurking places; 
only man defied the heat of the summer day. Un- 
disturbed he acccomplished his daily work, and only 
laid his tools aside for a moment, with a sigh, when a 
cooling breath blew across the overflowing stream and 
fanned his brow. 

The harbor or dock, where those landed who had crossed 
from eastern Thebes, was crowded with gay barks and 
boats waiting to return. 

The crews of rowers and steersmen who were attached 
to priestly brotherhoods or noble houses, were enjoying a 
rest till the parties they had brought across the Nile drew 
toward them again in long processions. 

Under a wide-spreading sycamore a vender of eatables, 
spirituous drinks, and acids for cooling the water, had set up 
his stall, and close to him, a crowd of boatmen and drivers 
shouted and disputed as they passed the time in eager 
games at morra.* 

Many sailors lay on the decks of the vessels, others on the 
shore; here in the thin shade of a palm-tree, there in the 
full blaze of the sun, from whose burning rays they pro- 


*In Latin “ micare digitis.” A game still constantly played in tlie 
soutli of Europe, and frequently represented by the Egyptians. The 
games depicted in the monuments are collected by Minutoli, in the 
Leipziger Illustrirte Zeitung, 1852. « 


44 


UARDA . 


tected themselves by spreading the cotton cloths, which 
served them for cloaks, over their faces. 

Between the sleepers passed bondmen and slaves, brown 
and black, in long files one behind the other, bending 
under the weight of heavy burdens, which had to be con- 
veyed to their destination at the temples for sacrifice, or 
to the dealers in various wares. Builders dragged blocks 
of stone, which had come from the quarries of Chennu and 
Suan, on sledges to the site of a new temple; laborers 
poured water under the runners, that the heavily loaded 
and dried wood should not take fire. 

All these workingmen w T ere driven with sticks by their 
overseers, and sang at their labor; but the voices of the 
leaders sounded muffled and hoarse, though, when after 
their frugal meal they enjoyed an hour of repose, they 
might be heard loud enough. Their parched throats re- 
fused to sing in the noontide of their labor. 

Thick clouds of gnats followed these tormented gangs, 
who with dull and spirit- broken endurance suffered alike 
the stings of the insects and the blows of their driver. 
The gnats pursued them to the very heart of the City of 
the Dead, where they joined themselves to the flies and 
wasps, which swarmed in countless crowds round the 
slaughter-houses, cooks’ shops, stalls of fried fish, and 
booths of meat, vegetables, honey, cakes and drinks, 
which were doing a brisk business in spite of the noontide 
heat and the oppressive atmosphere heated and filled with 
a mixture of odors. 

The nearer one got to the Libyan frontier, the quieter it 
became, and the silence of death reigned in the broad north- 
west valley, where in the southern slope the father of the 
reigning king had caused his tomb to be hewn, and where 
the stone-mason of the Pharaoh had prepared a rock tomb 
for him. 

A newly made road led into this rocky gorge, whose 
steep yellow and brown walls seemed scorched by the sun 
in many blackened spots, and looked like a ghostly array 
of shades that had risen from the tombs in the night and 
remained there. 

At the entrance of this valley some blocks of stone 
formed a sort of door-way, and through this, indifferent to 
the heat of the day, a small but brilliant troop of men was 
passing. 


TJAHDA. 


45 


Four slender youths as staff bearers led the procession, 
each clothed only vvitli an apron and a flowing head-cloth 
of gold brocade; the midday sun played on their smooth, 
moist, red-brown skins, and their supple naked feet hardly 
stirred the stones on the road. 

Behind them followed an elegant, two-wheeled chariot with 
two prancing, brown horses, bearing tufts of red and blue 
feathers on their noble heads, and seeming by the bearing 
of their arched necks and flowing tails to express their 
pride in the gorgeous housings, richly embroidered in sil- 
ver, purple, and blue and golden ornaments, which they 
wore — and even more in their beautiful, royal charioteer, 
Bent-Anat, the daughter of Rameses, at whose lightest 
word they pricked their ears, and whose little hand guided 
them with a scarcely perceptible touch. 

Two young men dressed like the other runners followed 
the chariot, and kept the rays of the sun off the face of their 
mistress with large fans of snow-white ostrich feathers fast- 
ened to long wands. 

By the side of Bent-Anat, so long as the road was wide 
enough to allow of it, was carried Nefert, the wife of 
Mena, in her gilt litter, borne by eight tawny bearers, who, 
running with a swift and equally measured step, did not 
remain far behind the trotting horses of the princess and 
her fan-bearers. 

Both the women, whom we now see for the first time in 
daylight, were of remarkable but altogether different 
beauty. 

The wife of Mena had preserved the appearance of a 
maiden; her large almond-shaped eyes had a dreamy sur- 
prised look out from under her long eyelashes, and her 
figure of hardly the middle-height had acquired a little 
stoutness without losing its youthful grace. No drop of 
Egyptian blood flowed in her veins, as could be seen in the 
color of her skin, which was of that fresh and equal hue 
which holds a medium between golden-yellow and bronze- 
brown, and which to this day is so charming in the 
maidens of Abyssinia, in her straight nose, her well-formed 
brow, in her smooth but thick black hair, and in the fine- 
ness of her hands and feet, which were ornamented with 
circles of gold. 

The maiden princess next to her had hardly reached her 


46 


UARDA. 


nineteenth year, and yet something of a womanly self- 
consciousness betrayed itself in her demeanor. Her stat- 
ure was by almost a head taller than that of her friend, 
her skin was fairer, her blue eyes kind and frank, without 
tricks of glance, but clear and honest, her profile was 
noble but sharply cut, and resembled that of her father, as 
a landscape in the mild and softening light of the moon 
resembles the same landscape in the broad clear light of 
day. The scarcely perceptible aquiline of her nose, she 
inherited from her Semitic ancestors,* as well as the 
slightly waving abundance of her brown hair, over which 
she wore a blue and white striped silk kerchief; its care- 
fully pleated folds were held in place by a gold ring, from 
which in front a horned uraeusf raised its head crowned 
with a disk of rubies. From hef left temple a large tress, 
pleated with gold thread, hung down to her waist, tlie sign 
of her royal birth. She wore a purple dress of fine, almost 
transparent stuff, that was confined with a gold belt and 
straps. Bound her throat was fastened a necklace like a 
collar, made of pearls and costly stones, and hanging low 
down on her well-formed bosom. 

Behind the princess stood her charioteer, an old officer 
of noble birth. 

Three litters followed the chariot of the princess, and in 
each sat two officers of the court; then came a dozen of 
slaves ready for any service, and lastly, a crowd of wand- 
bearers to drive off the idle populace, and of lightly armed 
soldiers, who — dressed only in the apron and head-cloth — 
each bore a dagger-shaped sword in his girdle, an ax in 
his right hand, and in his left, in token of free service, a 
palm-branch. 

Like dolphins round a ship, little girls in long shirt- 
shaped garments swarmed- round the whole length of the 
advancing procession, bearing water-jars on their steady 
heads, and at a sign from any one who was thirsty were 

*Many portraits have come down to us of Raineses; the finest is 
the noble statue preserved at Turin. A likeness Fas been detected 
between its profile, with its slightly aquiline nose, and that of 
Napoleon I. 

f A venomous Egyptian serpent which was adopted as the symbol 
of sovereign power, in consequence of its swift effects for life or 
death. It is never wanting to the diadem of the Pharaohs. 


UARDA. 


47 


ready to give him a drink. With steps as light as the 
gazelle they often outran the horses, and nothing could be 
more graceful than the action with which the taller ones 
bent over with the water-jars held in both arms to the 
drinker. 

The courtiers, cooled and shaded by waving fans, and 
hardly perceiving the noontide heat, conversed at their 
ease about indifferent matters, and the princesses pitied 
the poor horses, who were tormented as they went by 
annoying gad-flies; while the runners and soldiers, the 
litter-bearers and fan bearers, the girls with their jars and 
the panting slaves, were compelled to exert themselves 
under the rays of the midday sun in the service of their 
masters, till their sinews threatened to crack and their 
lungs to burst their bodies. 

At a spot where the road widened, and where, to the 
right, lay the steep cross- valley where the last kings of the 
dethroned race were interred, the procession stopped at a 
sign from Paaker, who preceded the princess, and who 
drove his fiery black Syrian horses with so heavy a hand 
that the bloody foam fell from their bits. 

When the Mohar had given the reins into the hand of a 
servant, he sprang from his chariot, and after the usual 
form of obeisance, said to the princess: 

“In this valley lies the loathsome den of the people, to 
whom thou, 0 princess, dost deign to do such high honor. 
Permit me to go forward as guide to thy party . ” 

“ We will go on foot ” said the princess, “and leave our 
followers behind here.” 

Paaker bowed, Bent-Anat threw the reins to her char- 
ioteer and sprang to the ground, the wife of Mena and the 
courtiers left their litters, and the fan-bearers and cham- 
berlains wore about to accompany their mistress on foot 
into the little valley, when she turned round and ordered, 
“Remain behind, all of you. Only Paaker and Nefert 
need go with me.” 

The princess hastened forward into the gorge, which was 
oppressive with the noontide heat; but she moderated her 
steps as soon as she observed that the frailer Nefert found 
it difficult to follow her. 

At a bend in the road Paaker stood still, and with him 
Bent-Anat and Nefert, Neither of them had spoken a 


48 


UABDA. 


word during their walk. The valley was perfectly still 
and deserted; on the highest pinnacles of the cliff, which 
rose perpendicularly to the right, sat a long row of 
vultures, as motionless as if the midday heat had taken all 
strength out of their wings. 

Paaker bowed before them as being the sacred animals 
of the Great Goddess of Thebes,* and the two women 
silently followed his example. 

“ There,” said the Mohar, pointing to two huts close to 
the left cliff of the valley, built of bricks made of dried 
Nile mud, “ there, the neatest, next the cave in the rock.” 

Bent-Anat went toward the solitary hovel with a beat- 
ing heart. Paaker let the ladies go first. A few steps 
brought them to an ill-constructed fence of reeds, palm- 
branches, briars, and maize haulms, roughly thrown to- 
gether. A heart-rending cry of pain from within the hut 
trembled in the air and arrested the steps of the two 
women. Nefert staggered and clung to her stronger 
companion, whose beating heart she seemed to hear. Both 
stood a few minutes as if spell-bound, then the princess 
called Paaker, and said: 

“ You go first into the house.” 

Paaker bowed to the ground. 

“ I will call the man out,” he said, “but how dare we 
step over his threshold? Thou knowest such a proceeding 
will defile us.” 

Nefert looked pleadingly at Bent-Anat, but the princess 
repeated her command. 

“ Go before me; I have no fear of defilement.” 

The Mohar still hesitated. 

“ Wilt thou provoke the gods, and defile thyself ?” 

But the princess let him say no more; she signed to 
Nefert, who raised her hands in horror and aversion; so, 
with a shrug of her shoulders, she left her companion 
behind with the Mohar, and stepped through an opening 
in the hedge into a little court, where lay two brown goats; 
a donkey with his forelegs tied together stood by, and a 
few hens were scattering the dust about in a vain search 
for food. 

* She formed a triad with Amon and Cliunsu under the name of 
Mutli. The great “Sanctuary of the kingdom”— the temple of 
Karnak — was dedicated to them, 


UARDA. 


49 


Soon she stood, alone, before the door of the paraschites’ 
hovel. No one perceived her, but she could not take her 
eyes — accustomed only to scenes of order and splendor — 
from the gloomy but wonderfully strange picture which 
riveted her attention and her sympathy. At last she went 
up to the door- way, which was too low for her tall figure. 
Her heart shrunk painfully within her, and she would have 
wished to grow smaller, and, instead of shining in 
splendor, to have found herself wrapped in a beggar’s 
robe. 

Could she step into this hovel decked with gold and 
jewels as if in mockery? — like a tyrant who should feast 
at a groaning table and compel the starving to look on at 
the banquet. Her delicate perception made her feel what 
trenchant discord her appearance offered to all that sur- 
rounded her, and the discord pained her; for she could 
not conceal from herself that misery and external mean- 
ness were here entitled to give the key-note, and that her 
magnificence derived no especial grandeur from contrast 
with all these modest accessories, amid dust, gloom, and 
suffering, but rather became disproportionate and hideous, 
like a giant among pigmies. 

She had already gone too far to turn back, or she would 
willingly have done sc. The longer she gazed into the 
hut, the more deeply she felt the impotence of her princely 
power, the nothingness of the splendid gifts with which 
she approached it, and that she might not tread the dusty 
floor of this wretched hovel but in all humility, and to 
crave a pardon. 

The room into which she looked was low but not very 
small, and obtained from two cross lights a strange and 
unequal illumination; on one side the light came through 
the door, and on the other through an opening in the 
time-worn ceiling of the room, which had never before 
harbored so many and such different guests. 

All attention was concentrated on a group, which was 
clearly lighted up from the door- way. 

On the dusty floor of the room cowered an old woman, 
with dark weather-beaten features and tangled hair that 
had long been gray. Her black-blue cotton shirt was open 
over her withered bosom, and showed a blue star tattooed 
upon it, 


50 


UARDA . 


In her lap she supported with her hands the head of a 
girl, whose slender body lay motionless on a narrow, 
ragged mat. The little white feet of the sick girl almost 
touched the threshold. Near to them squatted a benevo- 
lent-looking old man, who wore only a coarse apron, and 
sitting all in a heap, bent forward now and then, rubbing 
the child’s feet with his lean hands and muttering a few 
words to himself. 

The sufferer wore nothing but a short petticoat of coarse 
light-blue stuff. Her face, half resting on the lap of the 
old woman, was graceful and regular in form, her eyes 
were half shut — like those of a child, whose soul is wrapped 
in some sweet dream — but from her finely chiselled lips 
there escaped from time to time a painful, almost convul- 
sive sob. 

An abundance of soft, but disordered, reddish fair hair, 
in which clung a few withered flowers, fell over the lap of 
the old woman and on to the mat where she lay. Her 
cheeks were white and rosy-red, and when the young 
surgeon Nebsecht — who sat by her side, near his blind, 
stupid companion, the litany-singer — lifted the ragged 
cloth that had been thrown over her bosom, which had 
been crushed by the chariot wheel, or when she lifted her 
slender arm, it was seen that she had the shining fairness 
of those daughters of the north who not unfrequently 
came to Thebes, among the king’s prisoners of war. 

The two physicians sent hither from the House of Seti 
sat on the left side of the maiden on a little carpet. From 
time to time one or the other laid his hand over the heart 
of the sufferer, or listened to her breathing, or opened his 
case of medicaments, and moistened the compress on her 
wounded breast with a white ointment. 

In a wide circle close to the wall of the room crouched 
several women, young and old, friends of the paraschites, 
who from time to time gave expression to their deep sym- 
pathy by a piercing cry of lamentation. One of them rose 
at regular intervals to fill the earthen bowl by the side of 
the physician with fresh water. As often as the sudden 
coolness of a fresh compress on her hot bosom startled the 
sick girl, she opened her eyes, but always soon to close 
them again for a longer interval, and turned them at first 
in surprise, and then with gentle reverence, toward a par- 
ticular spot. 


VARDA . 


51 


These glances had hitherto been unobserved by him to 
whom they were directed. 

Leaning against the wall on the right hand side of the 
room, dressed in his long, snow-white priest's robe, Pen- 
tan r stood awaiting the princess. His head-dress touched 
the ceiling, and the narrow streak of light, which fell 
through the opening in the roof, streamed on his hand- 
some head and his breast, while all around him was veiled 
in twilight gloom. 

Once more the suffering girl looked up, and her 
glance this time met the eye of the young priest, who im- 
mediately raised his hand, and half-mechanically, in a low 
voice, uttered the words of blessing; and then once more 
fixed his gaze on the dingy floor, and pursued his own 
reflections. 

Some hours since he had come hither, obedient to the 
orders of Ameni, to impress on the princess that she had 
defiled herself by touching a paraschites, and could only be 
cleansed again by the hand of the priests. 

He had crossed the threshold of the paraschites most 
reluctantly, and the thought that he, of all men, had been 
selected to censure a deed of the noblest humanity, and to 
bring her who had done it to judgment, weighed upon him 
as a calamity. 

In his intercourse with his friend Nebsecht, Pentaur 
had thrown off many fetters, and -given place to many 
thoughts that his master would have held sinful and pre- 
sumptuous; but at the same time he acknowledged the 
sanctity of the old institutions, which were upheld by those 
whom he had learned to regard as the divinely appointed 
guardians of the spiritual possessions of God’s people; nor 
was he wholly free from the pride of caste and the haught- 
iness which, with prudent intent, were inculcated in the 
priests. He held the common man, who put forth his 
strength to win a maintenance for his belongings by honest 
bodily labor — the merchant — the artisan — the peasant, nay 
even the warrior, as far beneath the goodly brotherhood 
who strove for only spiritual ends; and most of all he 
scorned the idler, given up to sensual enjoyments. 

He held him unclean who had been branded by the law; 
and how should it have been otherwise. 

These people, who at the embalming of the dead opened 


52 


UARDA. 


the body of the deceased, had become despised for their 
office of mutilating the sacred temple of the soul; but no 
paraschites chose his calling of his own free will. It was 
handed down from father to son, and he who was born a 
paraschites — so he was taught — had to expiate an old guilt 
with which his soul had long ago burdened itself in a 
former existence, within another body, and which had de- 
prived it of absolution in the nether-world. It had passed 
through various animal forms ; and now began a new 
human course in the body of a paraschites, once more to 
stand after death in the presence of the judges of the under- 
world. 

Pentaur had crossed the threshold of the man he de- 
spised with aversion; the man himself, sitting at the feet 
of the suffering girl, had exclaimed as he saw the priest 
approaching the hovel: 

“ Yet another white robe! Does misfortune cleanse the 
unclean ?” 

Pentaur had not answered the old man, who on his part 
took no further notice of him, while he rubbed the girPs 
feet by order of the leech, and his hands impelled by tender 
anxiety untiringly continued the same movement, as the 
water-wheel in the Nile keeps up without intermission its 
steady motion in the stream. 

4 ‘ Does misfortune cleanse the unclean?” Pentaur asked 
himself. “ Does it indeed possess a purifying efficacy, and 
is it possible that the gods, who gave to fire the power of 
refining metals and to the winds power to sweep the clouds 
from the sky, should desire that a man made in their own 
image — that a man should be tainted from his birth to his 
death with an indelible stain?” 

He looked at the face of the paraschites, and it seemed 
to him to resemble that of his father. 

This startled him! ' 

And when he noticed how the woman, in whose lap the 
girPs head was resting, bent over the injured bosom of the 
child to catch her breathing, which she feared had -come 
to a stand-still — with the anguish of a dove that is struck 
down by a hawk — he remembered a moment in his own 
childhood when he had lain trembling with fever on his 
little bed. What then had happened to him, or had gone 
pn around him, he had long forgotten, but one image was 


UAUDA. 


53 


deeply imprinted on his soul, that of the face of his mother 
bending over him in deadly anguish, but who had gazed 
on her sick boy not more tenderly, or more anxiously, than 
this despised woman on her suffering child. 

“There is only one utterly unselfish, utterly pure and 
utterly divine love,” said he to himself, “and that is the 
love of Isis for Horns — the love of a mother for her child. 
If these people were indeed so foul as to defile every thing 
they touch, how would this pure, this tender, holy impulse 
show itself even in them in all its beauty and perfection.” 

“ Still,” he continued, “ the Celestials have implanted 
maternal love in the breast of the lioness, of the typhonic 
river-horse of the Nile.” 

He looked compassionately at the wife of the paraschites. 

He saw her dark face as she turned it away from the 
sick girl. She had felt her breathe, and a smile of hap- 
piness lighted up her old features; she nodded first to the 
surgeon, and then with a deep sigh of relief to her hus- 
band, who, while he did not cease the movement of his left 
hand, held up his right hand in prayer to heaven, and his 
wife did the same. 

It seemed to Pentaur that he could see the souls of these 
two floating above the youthful creature in holy union as 
they joined their hands, and again he thought of his par- 
ents' house, of the hour when his sweet, only sister died. 
His mother had thrown herself weeping on the pale form, 
but his father had stamped his foot and had thrown back 
his head, sobbing and striking his forehead with his fist. 

“ How piously submissive and thankful are these un- 
clean ones!” thought Pentaur, and repugnance for the old 
laws began to take root in his heart. “ Maternal love may 
exist in the hyena, but to seek and find God pertains only 
to man, who has a noble aim. Up to the limits of eternity — 
and God is eternal — thought is denied to animals; they 
cannot even smile. Even men cannot smile at first, for 
only physical life — an animal soul — dwells in them; but 
soon a share of the world's soul — beaming intelligence — 
works within them, and first shows itself in the smile of 
a child, which is as pure as the light and the truth from 
which it comes. The child of the paraschites smiles like 
any other creature born of woman, but how few aged men 
there are, even among the initiated, who can smile as in- 


54 


UARDA. 


nocently and brightly as. this woman who has grown gray 
under open ill-treatment/'’ 

Deep sympathy began to fill his heart, and he knelt down 
by the side of the poor child, raised her arm and prayed 
fervently to that One who had created the heavens and 
who rules the world— to that One, whom the mysteries of 
faith forbade him to name; and not to the innumerable 
gods, whom the people worshiped, and who to him were 
nothing but incarnations of the attributes of the One and 
only God of the initiated— of whom he was one— who was 
thus brought down to the comprehension of the laity. 

He raised his soul to God in passionate emotion; but he 
prayed, not for the child before him and for her recovery, 
but rather for the whole despised race, and for its release 
from the old ban, for the enlightenment of his own soul, 
imprisoned in doubts, and for strength to fulfill his hard 
task with discretion. 

The gaze of the sufferer followed him as he took up his 
former position. 

The prayer had refreshed his soul and restored him to 
cheerfulness of spirit. He began to reflect what in the 
princess* conduct he would have to comment on. 

He had not met Bent-Anat for the first time yesterday; 
on the contrary, he had frequently seen her in holiday 
processions, and at the high festivals in the Necropolis, 
and like all his young companions had admired her proud 
beauty — admired it as the distant light of the stars, or the 
evening-glow on the horizon. 

Now he must approach this lady with words of reproof. 

He pictured to himself the moment when he must ad- 
vance to meet her, and could not help thinking of his little 
tutor Chufu, above whom he towered by two heads, while 
he was still a boy, and who used to call up his admonitions 
to him from below. It was true, be himself was tall and 
slim, but he felt as if to-day he were to play the part 
toward Bent-Anat of the much-laughed-at little tutor. 

His sense of the comic was touched, and asserted itself 
at this serious moment, and with such melancholy sur- 
roundings. Life is rich in contrasts, and a susceptible 
and highly-strung human soul would break down like a 
bridge under the measured tread of soldiers, if it were 
allowed to let the burden of the heaviest thoughts and 


UARDA. 


55 


strongest feelings work upon it in undisturbed monotony; 
but just as in music every key-note has its harmonies, so 
when we cause one chord of our heart to vibrate for long, 
all sorts of strange notes respond and clang, often those 
which we least expect. 

Pentaur’s glance flew round the one low, overfilled room 
of the paraschites' hut, and like a lightning flash the 
thought, “ How will the princess and her train find room 
here?” flew through his mind. 

His fancy was lively, and vividly brought before him how 
the daughter of the Pharaoh with a crown on her proud 
head would bustle into the silent chamber, how the chat- 
tering courtiers would follow her, and how the women by 
the walls, the physicians by the side of the sick girl, 
the sleek white cat from the chest where she sat, would 
rise and throng round her. There must be frightful con- 
fusion. Then he imagined how the smart lords and ladies 
would keep themselves far from the unclean, hold their 
slender hands over their mouths and noses, and suggest to 
the old folks how they ought to behave to the princess 
who condescended to bless them with her presence. The 
old woman must lay down the head that rested in her 
bosom, the paraschites must drop the feet he so anxiously 
rubbed, on the floor, to rise and kiss the dust before Bent- 
Anat. Whereupon — the “mind's eye” of the young 
priest seemed to see it all — the courtiers fled before him, 
pushing each other, and all crowded together into a corner, 
and at last the princess threw a few silver or gold rings 
into the laps of the father and mother, and perhaps to the 
girl too, and he seemed to hear the courtiers all cry out: 
“ Hail to the gracious daughter of the Sun!” — to hear the 
joyful exclamations of the crowd of women — to see the 
gorgeous apparition leave the hut of the despised people, 
and then to see, instead of the lovely sick child who still 
breathed audibly, a silent corpse on the crumpled mat, 
and in the place of the two tender nurses at her head and 
feet, two heart-broken, loud-lamenting wretches. 

Pentaur's hot spirit was full of wrath. As soon as the 
noisy cortege appeared actually in sight he would place 
himselt in the door-way, forbid the princess to enter, and 
receive her with strong words. 

She could hardly come hither out of human kindness. 


56 


UARDA. 


“She wants variety,” said he to himself, “something 
new at court; for there is little going on there now the 
king tarries with the troops in a distant country; it tickles 
the vanity of the great to find themselves once in a while 
in contact with the small, and it is well to have your good- 
ness of heart spoken of by the people. If a little misfort- 
une opportunely happens, it is not worth the trouble to i 
inquire whether the form of our benevolence does more 
good or mischief to such wretched people.” 

He ground his teeth angrily, and thought no more of 
the defilement which might threaten Bent-Anat from the 
paraschites, but exclusively, on the contrary, on the initia- 
tion which she might derive from the holy feelings that 
were astir in this silent room. 

Excited as he was to fanaticism, his condemning lips 
could not fail to find vigorous and impressive words. 

He stood drawn to his full height and drawing his 
breath deeply, like a spirit of light who holds his weapon 
raised to annihilate a demon of darkness, and he looked 
out into the valley to perceive from afar the cry of the 
runners, and the rattle of the wheels of the gay train he 
expected. 

And he saw the door-way darkened by a lowly, bending 
figure, who, with folded arms, glided into the room and l 
sank down silently by the side of the sick girl. The phy- 
sicians and the old people moved as if to rise; but she , 
signed to them without opening her lips, and with moist, 
expressive eyes, to keep their places; she looked long and 
lovingly in the face of the wounded girl, stroked her white , 
arm, and turning to the old woman softly whispered to 
her: 

“ How pretty she is!” 

The paraschites’ wife nodded assent, and the girl smiled 
and moved her lips as though she had caught the words 
and wished to speak. 

Bent-Anat took a rose from her hair and laid it on her 
bosom. 

The paraschites, who had not taken his hands from the 
feet of the sick child, but who had followed every move- 
ment of the princess, now whispered, “ May Hathor 
requite thee, who gave thee thy beauty.” 

The princess turned to him and said, “Forgive the 
sorrow I have caused you.” 


UARDA. 


57 

The old man stood up, letting the feet of the sick girl 
fall, and asked in a clear, loud voice: 

“ Art thou Bent-Anat?” 

“ Yes, I am,” replied the princess, bowing her head low, 
and in so gentle a voice that it seemed as though she were 
ashamed of her proud name. 

The eyes of the old man flashed. Then he said softly 
but decisively: 

“ Leave my hut then, it will defile thee.” 

“ Not till you have forgiven me for that which I did 
unintentionally.” 

“Unintentionally! I believe thee,” replied the para- 
schites. “The hoofs of thy horse became unclean when 

they trod on this white breast. Look here ” and he 

lifted the cloth from the girl's bosom, and showed her the 
deep red wound. “Look here — here is the first rose you 
laid on my grandchild’s bosom, and the second — there it 
goes.” 

The paraschites raised his arm to fling the flower 
through the door of his hut. But Pentaur had ap- 
proached him, and with a grasp of iron held the old man’s 
hand. 

“ Stay,” he cried, in an eager tone, moderated, however, 
for the sake of the sick girl. “The third rose, which this 
noble hand has offered you, 'your sick heart and silly head 
have not even perceived. And yet you must know it if 
only from your need, your longing for it. The fair blossom 
of pure benevolence is laid on your child’s heart, and at 
your very feet by this proud princess. Not with gold, but 
with humility. And whoever the daughter of Rameses 
approaches as her equal, bows before her even if he were 
the first prince in the land of Egypt. Indeed, the gods 
shall not forget this deed of Bent-Anat. And you — for- 
give, if you desire to be forgiven that guilt which you bear 
as an inheritance from your fathers, and for your own 
sins.” 

The paraschites bowed his head at these words, and when 
he raised it the anger had vanished from his well-cut 
features. He rubbed his wrist, which had been squeezed 
by Pentaur’s iron fingers, and said in a tone which betrayed 
all the bitterness of his feelings : 

“Thy hand is hard, priest, and thy words hit like 


58 


VARDA, 


the strokes of a hammer. This fair lady is good and 
loving, and I know that she did not drive her horse 
intentionally over this poor girl, who is my grandchild 
and not my daughter. If she were thy wife or the wife 
of the leech there, or the child of the poor woman yon- 
der, who supports life by collecting the feet and feathers 
of the fowls that are slaughtered for sacrifice, I would not 
only forgive her, but console her for having made her- 
self like to me; fate would have made her a murderess 
without any fault of her own, just as it stamped me as 
unclean while I was still at my mother’s breast. Ay — 
I would comfort her; and yet I am not very sensitive. 
Ye holy three of Thebes! how should I be? Great and 
small get out of my way that I may not touch them, 
and every day when I have done what it is my business to 
do they throw stones at me. The fulfillment of duty — 
which brings a living to other men, which makes their hap- 
piness, and at the same time earns them honor, brings me 
every day fresh disgrace and painful sores. But I com- 
plain to no man, and must forgive — forgive — forgive, till 
at last all that men do to me seems quite natural and unavoid- 
able, and I take it all like the scorching of the sun in 
summer, and the dust that the west wind blows into my 
face. It does not make me happy, but what can I do? I 
forgive all ” 

The voice of the parascliites had softened, and Bent- 
Anat, who looked down on him with emotion, interrupted 
him, exclaiming with deep feeling: 

“And so you will forgive me? — poor man!” 

The old man looked steadily, not at her, but at Pen- 
taur, while he replied: “Poor man! ay, truly, poor man. 
You have driven me out of the world in which you live, 
and so I made a world for myself in this hut. I do not 
belong to you, and if I forget it you drive me out as an 
intruder — nay, as a wolf, who breaks into your fold; but 
you belong just as little to me, only when you play the 
wolf and fall upon me, I must bear it!” 

“The princess came to your hut as a suppliant, and 
with the wish of doing you some good,” said Pentaur. 

“ May the avenging gods reckon it to her, when they 
visit on her the crimes of her father against me! Perhaps 
it may bring me to prison, but it must come out. Seven 


VARDA. 


59 


Sons were mine, and Rameses took them all from me and 
sent them to death; the child of the youngest, this girl, 
the light of my eyes, his daughter has brought to her 
death. Three of my boys the king left to die of thirst by 
the Tenat,* which is to join theJN’ile to the Red Sea, three 
were killed by the Ethiopians, and the last, the star of my 
hopes, by this time is eaten by the hyenas of the north.” 

At these words the old woman, in whose lap the head of 
the girl rested, broke out into a loud cry, in which she 
was joined by all the other women. 

The sufferer started up frightened, and opened her 
eyes. 

“For whom are you wailing?” she asked, feebly. 

“For your poor father,” said the old woman. 

The girl smiled like a child who detects some well- 
meant deceit, and said: 

“Was not my father here, with you? He is here, in 
Thebes, and looked at me, and kissed me, and said that 
he is bringing home plunder, and that a good time is 
coming for you. The gold ring that he gave me I was fasten- 
ing into my dress, when the chariot passed over me. I 
was just pulling the knots, when all grew black before my 
eyes, and I saw and heard nothing more. Undo it, grand- 
mother, the ring is for you; I meant to bring it to you. 
You must buy a beast for sacrifice with it, and wine for 
grandfather, and eye -salve for yourself, and sticks of 
mastic, which you have so long had to do without.” 

The paraschites seemed to drink these words from the 
mouth of his grandchild. Again he lifted his hand in 
prayer, again Pentaur observed that his glance met that of 
his wife, and a large, warm tear fell from his old eyes on 
to his callous hand. Then he sunk down, for he thought 
the sick child was deluded by a dream. But there were 
the knots in her dress. 

With a trembling hand he untied them, and a gold ring 
rolled out on the floor. 

Bent-Anat picked it up and gave it to the paraschites. 

* Literally the “cutting ” which, under Seti I, the father of Rame- 
ses, was the first “ Suez canal:” a representation of it is found on the 
northern outer wall of the temple of Karnack. It followed nearly 
the same direction as the South- water canal of Lesseps, and fertilized 
the land of Goshen. 


60 


UAfiDA. 


“ I came here in a lucky hour,” she said, “ for you have 
recovered your son and your child will live.” 

“ She will live,” repeated the surgeon, who had remained 
a silent witness of all that had occurred. 

“ She will stay with us,” murmured the old man, and 
then said, as he approached the princess on his knees, and 
looked up at her beseechingly with tearful eyes: 

“ Pardon me as I pardon thee; and if a pious wish may 
not turn to a curse from the lips of the unclean, let me 
bless thee.” 

“ I thank you,” said Bent-Anat, toward whom the old 
man raised his hand in blessing. 

Then she turned to Nebsecht and ordered him to take 
anxious care of the sick girl; she bent over her, kissed her 
forehead, laid her gold bracelet by her side, and signing to 
Pentaur, left the hut with him. 


CHAPTER VI. 

During the occurrence we have described, the king’s 
pioneer and the young wife of Mena were obliged to wait 
for the princess. 

The sun stood in the meridian when Bent-Anat had gone 
into the hovel of the paraschites. 

The bare limestone rocks on each side of the valley and 
the sandy soil between shone with a vivid whiteness that 
hurt the eyes; not a hand’s breadth of shade was anywhere 
to be seen, and the fan-bearers of the two, who were wait- 
ing there, had, by command of the princess, stayed behind 
with the chariot and litters. 

For a time they stood silently near each other; then the 'f 
fair Nefert said, wearily closing her almond-shaped eyes: 

“How long Bent-Anat stays in the hut of the unclean! 

I am perishing here. What shall we do?” 

“ Stay!” said Paaker, turning his back on the lady; and 
mounting a block of stone by the side of the gorge, he 
cast a practiced glance all around, and returned to Nefert: 
“I have found a shady spot,” he said, “out there.” 

Mena’s wife followed with her eyes the indication of his 
hand and shook her head. The gold ornaments on her 
head-dress rattled gently as she did so, and a cold shiver 
passed over her slim body in spite of the midday heat. 


HARD A. 


61 

“ Sechet* is raging in the sky,” said Paaker. “ Let us* 
avail ourselves of the shady spot, small though it be. At 
this hour of the day many are struck with sickness.” 

“I know it,” said Nefert, covering her neck with her 
hand. Then she went toward two blocks of stone which 
leaned against each other, and between them afforded the 
spot of shade, not many feet wide, which Paaker had 
pointed out as a shelter from the sun. 

Paaker preceded her, and rolled aflat piece of limestone, 
inlaid by nature with nodules of flint, under the stone 
pavilion, crushed a few scorpions which had taken refuge 
there, spread his head-cloth over the hard seat, and said, 
“Here you are sheltered.” 

Nefert sank down on the stone and watched the Mohar, 
who slowly and silently paced backward and forward in 
front of her. This incessant to and fro of her companion 
at last became unendurable to her sensitive and irritated 
nerves, and suddenly raising her head from her hand, on 
which she had rested it, she exclaimed: 

“ Pray stand still.” 

The pioneer obeyed instantly, and looked, as he stood 
with his back to her, toward the hovel of the paraschites. 

After a short time Nefert said: 

“Say something to me!” 

The Mohar turned his face full toward her, and she was 
frightened at the wild fire that glowed in the glance with 
which he gazed at her. 

Nefert’s eyes fell, and Paaker, saying: 

“ I would rather remain silent,” recommenced his walk, 
till Nefert called to him again and said: 

“ I know you are angry with me ; but I was but a 
child when I was betrothed to you. I liked you too, and 
when in our games your mother called me your little wife, 

I was really glad, and used to think how fine it would be 


* A goddess with the head of a lioness or a cat. over which the 
Sun disk is usually found. She was the daughter of Ra, and in the 
form of the Uraeus on her fathers crown personified the murderous 
heat of the star of day. She incites man to the hot and wild passion 
of love, and as a cat or lioness tears burning wounds in the limbs of 
the guilty in the nether- world; drunkenness and pleasure are her 
gifts. She was also named Bast and Astarte after her sister-divinity 
among the Phoenicians. 


62 


VARDA. 


when I might call all yonr possessions mine, the house you 
would have so splendidly. restored* for me after your father’s 
death, the noble gardens, the fine horses in their stables, 
and all the male and female slaves.” 

Paaker laughed, but the laugh sounded so forced and 
scornful that it cut Nefert to the heart, and she went on, 
as if begging for indulgence: 

“ It was said that you were angry with us; and now you 
will take my words as if I had cared only for your wealth; 
but I said I liked you. Do you no longer remember how 
I cried with you over your tales of the bad boys in the 
school, and over your father’s severity? Then my uncle 
died — then you went to Asia.” 

“And you,” interrupted Paaker, hardly and dryly, 
“you broke your betrothal vows, and became the wife 
of the charioteer Mena. I know it all ; of what use is 
talking?” 

“ Because it grieves me that you should be angry, and 
your good mother avoid our house. If only you could 
know what it is when love seizes one, and one can no 
longer even think alone, but only near, and with, and in 
the very arms of another; when one’s beating heart throbs 
in one’s very temples, and even in one’s dreams one sees 
nothing — but one only.” 

“And do I not know it?” cried Paaker, placing himself 
close before her with his arms crossed. “ Do I not know it? 
and you it was who taught me to know it. When I thought 
of you, not blood, but burning fire, coursed in my veins, 
and now you have filled them with poison; and here in this 
breast, in which your image dwelt, as lovely as that of 
Hathor in her holy of holies, all is like that sea in Syria 
which is called the Dead Sea, in which everything that 
tries to live presently dies and perishes.” 

Paaker’s eyes rolled as he spoke, and his voice sounded 
hoarsely as he went on. 

“ But Mena was near to the king — nearer than I, and 
your mother ” 

“My mother!” Nefert interrupted the angry Mohar. 
“My mother did not choose my husband. I ‘saw him 
driving the chariot, and to me he resembled the Sun-god, 
and he observed me, and looked at me, and his glance 
pierced deep into my heart like a spear; and when, at the 


VARDA. 


63 

festival of the king’s birthday, he spoke to me, it was just 
as if Ifathor had thrown round me a web of sweet, sound- 
ing sunbeams. And it was the same with Mena; he him- 
self has told me so since I have -been his wife. For your 
sake my mother rejected his suit, but I grew pale and dull 
with longing for him, and he lost his bright spirit, and 
was so melancholy that the king remarked it, and asked 
what weighed on his heart — for Raineses loves him as his 
own son. Then Mena confessed to the Pharaoh that it 
was love that dimmed his eye and weakened his strong 
hand; and theu the king himself courted me for his faith- 
ful servant, and my mother gave way, and we were made 
man and wife, and all the joys of the justified in the fields 
of Aalu* are shallow and feeble by the side of the bliss 
which we two have known — not like mortal men, but like 
the celestial gods.” 

Up to thi§, point Xefert had fixed her large eyes on the 
sky, like a glorified soul; but now her gaze fell, and she 
said softly: 

“ But the Chetaf disturbed our happiness, for the king 
took Mena with him to the war. Fifteen times did the 
moon rise upon our happiness, and theu ” 

“ And then the gods heard my prayer, and accepted my 
offerings,” said Paaker, with a trembling voice, “ and tore 
the robber of my joys from you; and scorched your heart 
and his with desire. Do you think you can tell me any- 
thing I do not know? Once again for fifteen days was 
Mena yours, and now he has not returned again from the 
war which is raging hotly in Asia.” 

“ But he will return,” cried the young wife. 

“ Or possibly not,” laughed Paaker. “ The Cheta, 
carry sharp weapons, and there are many vultures in 
Lebanon, who perhaps at this hour are tearing his flesh 
as he tore my heart.” 

Xefert rose at these words, her sensitive spirit bruised 


* The fields of the blest, which were opened to glorified souls. In 
the Book of the Dead it is shown that in them men linger, and sow 
and reap by cool waters. 

f An Aramaean race, according to Schrader’s excellent judgment. 
At the time of our story the peoples of western Asia had allied 
themselves to them. 


64 


UAEDA. 


as with stones thrown by a brutal hand, and attempted 
to leave her shady refuge to follow the princess into the 
house of the paraschites; but her feet refused to bear her, 
and she sank back trembling on her stone seat. She tried 
to find words, but her tongue was powerless. Her powers 
of resistance forsook her in her unutterable and soul-felt 
distress— heart- wrung, forsaken and provoked. 

A variety of painful sensations raised a hot, vehement 
storm in her bosom, which checked her breath, and at last 
found relief in a passionate and convulsive weeping that 
shook her whole body. She saw nothing more, she heard 
nothing more, she only shed tears and felt herself mis- 
erable. 

Paaker stood over her in silence. 

There are trees in the tropics on which white blossoms hang 
close by the withered fruit; there are days when the pale 
moon shows itself near the clear bright sun; and it is 
given to the soul of man to feel love and hatred both at 
the same time, and to direct both to the same end. 

Nefert's tears fell as dew, her sobs as manna on the soul 
of Paaker, which hungered and thirsted for revenge. Her 
pain was joy to him, and yet the sight of her beauty filled 
him with passion; his gaze lingered spell-bound on her 
graceful form; he would have given all the bliss of Heaven 
once, only once, to hold her in his arms — once, only once, 
to hear a word of love from her lips. 

After some minutes Nefert's tears grew less violent. 
With a weary, almost indifferent gaze she looked at the 
Mohar, still stauding before her, and said in a soft tone of 
entreaty: 

“ My tongue is parched, fetch me a little water. ” 

“ The princess may come out at any moment,” replied 
Paaker. 

“But I am fainting,” said Nefert, and began again to 
cry gently. 

Paaker shrugged his shoulders, and went further into 
the valley, which he knew as well as his father’s house; 
for in it was the tomb of his mother's ancestors, in which 
as a boy he had put up prayers at every full and new moon 
and laid gifts on the altar. 

The hut of the paraschites was prohibited to him, but he 
knew that scarcely a hundred paces from the spot where 


UARDA. 


65 


Nefert was sitting lived an old woman of evil repute, in 
whose hole in the rock he could not fail to find a drink of 
water. 

He hastened forward, half intoxicated with all he had 
seen and felt within the last few minutes. 

The door, which at night closed the cave against the in- 
trusions of the plunder-seeking jackals, was wide open, 
and the old woman sat outside under a ragged piece of 
brown sail-cloth, fastened at one end to the rock and at 
the other to two posts of rough wood. She was sorting a 
heap of dark and light-colored roots, which lay in her lap. 
Near her was a wheel, which turned in a high wooden 
fork. A wryneck was made fast to it by a little chain, 
and by springing from spoke to spoke kept it in continual 
motion. A large black cat crouched beside her, and smelt 
at some ravens' and owls* heads, from which the eyes had 
not long since been extracted. 

Two sparrow-hawks sat huddled up over the door of the 
cave, out of which came the sharp odor of burning juniper- 
berries; this was intended to render the various emana- 
tions rising from the different strange substances, which 
were collected and preserved there, innocuous. 

As Paaker approached the cavern the old woman called 
out to some one within: 

“ Is the wax cooking?” 

An unintelligible murmur was heard in answer. 

Then throw in the ape’s eyes,* and the ibis-feathers, 
and the scraps of linen with the black signs on them. 
Stir it all a little; now put out the fire. Take the jug 
and fetch some water — make haste, here comes a stranger.” 

A sooty-black negro woman, with a piece of torn color- 
less stuff hanging round her hips, set a large clay jar on 
her gray woolly matted hair, and without looking at him 
went past Paaker, who was now close to the cave. 

The old woman, a tall figure bent with years, with a 
sharply-cut and wrinkled face that might once have been 
handsome, made her preparations for receiving the visitor 
by tying a gaudy kerchief over her head, fastening her 

* The sentences and mediums employed by the witches, according 
to papyrus-rolls which remain. I have availed myself of the Magic 
papyrus of Harris, and of two in the Berlin collection, one of which 
is in Greek. 


66 


UARDA. 


blue cotton garment round her throat, and flinging a fiber 
mat over the birds’ heads. 

Paaker called out to her, but she feigned to be deaf 
and not to hear his voice. Only when he stood quite 
close to her did she raise her shrewd, twinkling eyes and 
cried out: 

“A lucky day! a white day that brings a noble guest 
and high honor.” 

44 Get up,” commanded Paaker, not giving her any 
greeting, but throwing a silver ring* among the roots that 
lay in her lap, 44 and give me in exchange for good money 
some water in a clean vessel.” 

44 Fine pure silver,” said the old woman, while she held 
the ring, which she had quickly picked out from the roots, 
close to her eyes; 44 it is too much for mere water, and too 
little for my good liquors.” 

44 Don't chatter, hussy, but make haste,” cried Paaker, 
taking another ring from his money-bag and throwing it 
into her lap. 

44 Thou hast an open hand,” said the old woman, speak- 
ing in the dialect of the upper classes; 44 many doors must 
be open to thee, for money is a pass-key that turns any 
lock. Wouldst thou have water for thy good money? 
Shall it protect thee against noxious beasts? Shall it help 
thee to reach down a star? Shall it guide thee to secret 
paths? It is thy duty to lead the way. Shall it make heat 
cold, or cold warm? Shall it give thee the power of read- 
ing hearts, or shall it beget beautiful dreams? Wilt thou 
drink of the water of knowledge and see whether thy 
friend or thine enemy — ha! if thine enemy shall die? 
Wouldst thou a drink; to strengthen thy memory? Shall 
the water make thee invisible? or remove the sixth toe 
from thy left foot?” 

44 You know me?” asked Paaker. 

44 How should I?” said the old woman, 44 but my eyes 
are sharp, and I can prepare good waters for great and 
small.” 

44 Mere babble!” exclaimed Paaker, impatiently, clutch- 
ing at the whip in his girdle. 44 Make haste, for the lady 
for whom ” 

* The Egyptians had no coins before Alexander of Ptolemais, but 
used metals for exchange, usually in the form of rings. 


UARDA. 


67 


“ Dost thou want the water for a lady?” interrupted the 
old woman. “ Who would have thought it? Old men 
certainly ask for my philters much oftener than young 
ones; but I can serve thee, I can serve thee. 9 

With these words the old woman went into the cave, 
and soon returned with a thin cylindrical flask of alabaster 
in her hand. 

“ This is the drink,” she said, giving the phial to 
Paaker. “Pour half into water, and offer it to the lady. 
If it does not succeed at first it is certain the second time. 
A child may drink the water and it will not hurt him, 
or if an old man takes it, it makes him gay. Ah, 
I know the taste of it!” and she moistened her lips with 
the white fluid. “It can hurt no one, but I will take no 
more of it, or old Hekt will be tormented with love and 
longing for thee; and that would ill please the rich young 
lord, ha! ha! If the drink is in vain I am paid enough; 
if it takes effect thou shalt bring me three more gold rings; 
and thou wilt return, I know it well.” 

Paaker had listened motionless to the old woman, and 
seized the flask eagerly, as if bidding defiance to some ad- 
versary; he put it in his money-bag, threw a few more 
rings at the feet of the witch, and once more hastily de- 
manded a bowl of Nile water. 

“ Is my lord in such a hurry?” muttered the old woman, 
once more going into the cave. “ He asks if I know him? 
him certainly I do? but tiie darling? who can it be here- 
abouts ? perhaps little Uarda at the paraschites yonder. 
She is pretty enough; but she is lying on a mat, run over 
and dying. We must see what my lord means. He 
would have pleased me well enough, if I were young; but 
he will reach the goal, for he is resolute and spares no 
one.” 

While she muttered these and similar words, she filled a 
graceful cup of glazed earthenware with filtered Nile 
water, which she poured out of a large porous clay jar, 
and laid a laurel leaf, on which was scratched two hearts 
linked together by seven strokes, on the surface of the 
limpid fluid. Then she stepped out into the air again. 

As Paaker took the vessel from her hand, and looked at 
the laurel leaf, she said: 

“This indeed binds hearts; three is the husband, four 


68 


UARDA. 


is the wife, seven is the indivisible. Chaach, chachach, 
charcharachacha.” * 

The old woman sang this spell not without skill; but 
the Mohar appeared not to listen to her jargon. He de- 
scended carefully into the valley, and directed his steps to 
the resting-place of the wife of Mena. 

By the side of a rock, which hid him from Nefert, he 
paused, set the cup on a flat block of stone, and drew the 
flask with the philter out of his girdle. 

His fingers trembled, but a thousand voices within 
seemed to surge up and cry: ^ 

“ Take it! do it! put in the drink! Noj/or never.” 

He felt like a solitary traveler who finds on his road the 
last will of a relation whose possessions he had hoped for, 
but which disinherits him. Shall he surrender it to the 
judge, or shall he destroy it? 

Paaker was not merely outwardly devout; hitherto he 
had in everything intended to act according to the pre- 
scriptions of the religion of his fathers. Adultery was a 
heavy sin; but had not he an older right to Nefert than 
the king’s charioteer? 

He who followed the black arts of magic, should, ac- 
cording to the law, be punished by death, and the old 
woman had a bad name for her evil arts; but he had not 
sought her for the sake of the philter. Was it not possible 
that the Manes of his forefathers, that the gods themselves, 
moved by his prayers and offerings, had put him in pos- 
session, by an accident — which was almost a miracle — of 
the magic potion whose efficacy he never for an instant 
doubted ? 

Paaker’s associates held him to be a man of quick de- 
cision, and, in fact, in difficult cases he could act with 
unusual rapidity, but what guided him in these cases, was 
not the swift-winged judgment of a prepared and well- 
schooled brain, but usually only resulted from the outcome 
of a play of question and answer. 

Amulets of the most various kinds hung round his neck, 
and from his girdle, all consecrated by priests, and of spe- 
cial sanctity or the highest efficacy. 

There was the lapis lazuli eye, which hung to his girdle 


* This jargon is found in a magic-papyrus at Berlin. 


UAUDA. 


69 


by a gold chain; when he threw it on the ground, so as to 
lie on the earth, if its engraved side turned to heaven and 
its smooth side lay on the ground, he said “ yes;” in the 
other case, on the contrary, “ no.” In his purse lay always 
a statuette of the god Apheru,* who opened roads; this he 
threw down at cross-roads, and followed the direction 
which the pointed snout of the image indicated. He fre- 
quently called into council the seal-ring of his deceased 
father, an old family possession, which the chief-priest of 
Ahydos had laid upon the holiest of the fourteen graves of 
Osiris, and endowed with miraculous power, f It consisted 
of a gold ring with a broad signet, on which could be read 
the name of Thotmes III, who had long since been deified, 
and from whom Paaker’s ancestors had derived it. If it 
were desirable to consult the ring, the Mohar touched with 
the point of his bronze dagger the engraved sign of the 
name, below which were represented three objects sacred 
to the gods, and three that were, on the contrary, profane. 
If he hit one of the former, he concluded that his father — 
who was gone to Osiris — concurred in his design; in the 
contrary case he was careful to postpone it. Often he 
pressed the ring to his heart and awaited the first living 
creature that he might meet, regarding it as a messenger 
from his father; if it came to him from the right hand as 
an encouragement, if from the left as a warning. 

By degrees he had reduced these questionings to a sys- 
tem. All that lie found in nature he referred to himself 
and the current of his life. It was at once touching and 
pitiful to see how closely he lived with the Manes of his 
dead. His lively but not exalted fancy, whenever he gave 
it play, presented to the eye of his soul the image of his 
father and of an elder brother who had died early, always 
in the same spot, and almost tangibly distinct. 

But he never conjured up the remembrance of the be- 
loved dead in order to think of them with silent melan- 


*A particular form of Anubis— as was the jackal-headed local 
divinity of Lykopolis, the modern Sint. 

f Typhon cut the body of Osiris into fourteen pieces, and then 
strewed them in Egypt. When Isis found one of them she erected 
a monument to her husband. In later . times none of these was 
reckoned more holy than that of Abydos, whither also Egyptians of 
rank had their mummies conveyed to rest in the vicinity of Osiris. 


tTARDA. 


to 

choly — that sweet blossom of the thorny wreath of sorrow; 
only for selfish ends. The appeal to the Manes of his 
father he had found especially efficacious in certain desires 
and difficulties; calling on the Manes of his brother was 
potent in certain others; and so he turned from one to the 
other with the precision of a carpenter, who rarely doubts 
whether he should give the preference to a hatchet or a 
saw. 

These doings he held to be well-pleasing to the gods, 
and as he was convinced that the spirits of his dead had, 
after their justification, passed into Osiris — that is to say, 
as atoms forming part of the great world-soul, at this time 
had a share in the direction of the universe — he sacrificed 
to them not only in the family catacomb, but also in the 
temples of the Necropolis dedicated to the worship of 
ancestors, and with special preference in the House of 
Seti. 

He accepted advice, nay, even blame, from Ameni and 
the other priests under his direction; and so lived full of a 
virtuous pride in being one of the most zealous devotees 
in the land, and one of the most pleasing to the gods, a 
belief on which his pastors never threw any doubt. 

Attended and guided at every step by supernatural 
powers, he wanted no friend and no confidant. In the 
field, as in Thebes, he stood apart and passed among his 
comrades for a reserved man, rough and proud, but with a 
strong will. 

He had the power of calling up the image of his lost 
love with as much vividness as the forms of the dead, and 
indulged in this magic not only through a hundred still 
nights, but in long rides and drives through silent wastes. 

Such visions were commonly followed by a vehement and 
boiling overflow of his hatred against the charioteer, and 
a whole series of fervent prayers for his destruction. 

AVhen Paaker set the cup of water for Nefert on the 
flat stone and felt for the philter, his soul was so full of 
desire that there was no room for hatred; still he could 
not altogether exclude the idea that he would commit 
a great crime by making use of a magic drink. Before 
pouring the fateful drops into the water he would consult 
the oracle of the ring. The dagger touched none of the 
holy symbols of the inscription on the signet, and in other 


UARDA. 

circumstances he would, without going any further, have 
given up his project. 

But this time he unwillingly returned it to its sheath, 
pressed the gold ring to his heart, muttered the name of 
his brother in Osiris, and awaited the first living creature 
that might come toward him. 

He had not long to wait; from the mountain slope oppo- 
site to him rose, with heavy, slow wing-strokes, two light- 
colored vultures. 

In anxious suspense he followed their flight as they rose 
higher and higher. For a moment they poised motionless, 
borne up by the air, circled round each other, then 
wheeled to the left and vanished behind the mountains, 
denying him the fulfillment of his desire. 

He hastily grasped the phial to fling it from him, but 
the surging passion in his veins had deprived him of his 
self-control. Nefert’s image stood before him as if beck- 
oning him; a mysterious power clinched his fingers close 
and yet closer round the phial, and with the same defiance 
which he showed to his associates, he poured half of the 
philter into the cup and approached his victim. 

Nefert had meanwhile left her shady retreat and came 
toward him. 

- She silently accepted the water he offered her, and 
drank it with delight to the very dregs. 

“ Thank you,” she said, when she had recovered 
breath after her .eager draught. 

“That has done me good! How fresh and acid the 
water tastes: but your hand shakes, and you are heated 
by your quick run for me — poor man.” 

With these words she looted at him with a peculiar 
expressive glance of her large eyes, and gave. him her right 
hand which he pressed wildly to his lips. 

“ That will do,” she said, smiling; “ here comes the 
princess with a priest, out of the hovel of the unclean. 
With what frightful words you terrified me just now. It 
is true I gave you just cause to be angry with me; but now 
you are kind again — do you hear? — and will bring your 
mother again to see mine. Not a word. I shall see, 
whether cousin Paaker refuses me obedience.” 

She threatened him playfully with her finger, and 
then growing grave she added, with a look that pierced 


72 


UATtDA. 


Paaker’s heart with pain and yet with ecstasy, “ Let ns 
leave off quarreling. It is so much better when people 
are kind to each other.” 

After these words she walked toward the house of 
the paraschites, while Paaker pressed his hands to his 
breast, and murmured: 

“ The drink is working and she will be mine. I thank 
ye — ye immortals!” 

But this thanksgiving, which hitherto he had never 
failed to utter when any good fortune had befallen him, 
to-day died on his lips. Close before him he saw the goal 
of his desires; there, under his eyes, lay the magic spring 
longed for for years. A few steps further, and he might 
slake at its copious stream his thirst both for love and for 
revenge. 

While he followed the wife of Mena, and replaced the 
phial carefully in his girdle, so as to lose no drop of the 
precious fluid which, according to the prescription of the 
old woman, he needed to use again, warning voices spoke 
in his breast, to which he usually listened as to a fatherly 
admonition; but at this moment he mocked at them, and 
even gave outward expression to the mood that ruled him 
— for he flung up his right hand like a drunken man, 
who turns away from the preacher of morality on his 
way to the wine-cask; and yet passion held him so closely 
ensnared that the thought that he should live through the 
swift moments which would change him from an honest 
man into a criminal hardly dawned darkly on his soul. 
He had hitherto dared to indulge his desire for love and 
revenge in thought only, and had left it to the gods to act 
for themselves; now he had taken his cause out of the hand 
of the Celestials, and gone into action without them and 
in spite of them. 

The sorceress Hekt passed him; she wanted to see the 
woman for whom she had given him the philter. He 
perceived her and shuddered, but soon the old woman 
vanished among the rocks muttering: 

“ Look at the fellow with six toes. He makes himself 
comfortable with the heritage of Assa.” 

In the middle of the valley walked Nefert and the 
pioneer, with the Princess Bent-Anat and Pentaur, who 
accompanied her. 


UARBA. 


73 

When these two lmd come out of the hut of the para- 
schites they stood opposite each other in silence. 

The royal maiden pressed her hand to her heart, and, 
like one who is thirsty, drank in the pure air of the mount- 
ain valley with deeply drawn breath; she felt as if released 
from some overwhelming burden, as if delivered from some 
frightful danger. 

At last she turned to her companion, who gazed earnestly 
at the ground. 

“ What an hour!” she said. 

Pentaur’s tall figure did not move, hut he bowed his 
head in assent, as if he were in a dream. 

Bent-Anat now saw him for the first time in full day- 
light; her large eyes rested on him with admiration, and 
she asked: 

“ Art thou the priest, who, yesterday after my first visit 
to this house, so readily restored me to cleanness?” 

“ I am he,” replied Pentaur. 

“ I recognized thy voice, and I am grateful to thee, for 
it was thou that didst strengthen my courage to follow the 
impulse of my heart in spite of my spiritual guides, and to 
come here again. Thou wilt defend me if others blame 
me.” 

“ I came here to pronounce thee unclean.” 

“ Then thou hast changed thy mind?” asked Bent-Anat, 
and a smile of contempt curled her lips. 

“ I follow a high injunction, that commands us to keep 
the old institutions sacred. If touching a paraschites, it is 
said, does not defile a princess, whom then can it defile? 
for whose garment is more spotless than hers?” 

“ But this is a good man with all his meanness,” inter- 
rupted Bent-Anat, “ and in spite of the disgrace, which is 
the bread of life to him as honor is to us. May the nine 
great Gods forgive me! but he who is in there is loving, 
pious and brave, and pleases me — and thou, thou, who 
didst think yesterday to purge away the taint of his touch 
with a word — what prompts thee to-day to cast him with 
the lepers?” 

“ The admonition of an enlightened man, never to give 
up any link of the old institutions; because thereby the 
already weakened chain may be broken, and fall rattling 
to the ground.” 


n 


TJARDA. 


“ Then thou condemnest me to uncleanness for the sake 
of an old superstition, and of the populace, hut not for 
my actions? Thou art silent? Answer me now, if thou 
art such a one as I took thee for, freely and sincerely; for 
it concerns the peace of my soul.” 

Pentaur breathed hard; and then from the depths of 
his soul, tormented by doubts, these deeply-felt words 
forced themselves as if wrung from him; at first softly, but 
louder as he went on. 

“ Thou dost compel me to say what I had better not 
even think; but rather will I sin against obedience than 
against truth, the pure daughter of the Sun, whose aspect, 
Bent-Anat, thou dost wear. Whether the paraschites is 
unclean by birth or not, who am I that I should decide? 
But to me this man appeared — as to thee — as one moved 
by the same pure and holy emotions as stir and bless me 
and mine, and thee and every soul born of woman; and I 
believe that the impressions of this hour have touched thy 
soul as well as mine, not to taint but to purify. If I am 
wrong, may the many-named Gods forgive me. Whose 
breath lives and works in the paraschites as well as in thee 
and me, in Whom I believe, and to Whom I will ever 
address my humble songs louder and more joyfully as I 
learn that all that lives and breathes, that weeps and re- 
joices, is the image of their sublime nature, and born to 
equal joy and equal sorrow.” 

Pentaur had raised his eyes to heaven; now they met 
the proud and joyful radiance of the princess' glance, while 
she frankly offered him her hand. He humbly kissed her 
robe, but she said: 

“ Nay — not so. Lay thy hand in blessing on mine. 
Thou art a man and a true priest. Now I can be satisfied 
to be regarded as unclean, for my father also desires that 
by us especially the institutions of the past that have so 
long continued should be respected, for the sake of the 
people. Let us pray in common to the gods, that these 
poor people may be released from the old ban. How 
beautiful the world might be, if men would but let man 
remain what the Celestials have made him. But Paaker 
and poor Nefert are waiting in the scorching sun — come, 
follow me.” 

She went forward, but after a few steps she turned round 
to him, and asked: 


TTARDA. 


75 


“ What is thy name?” 

“ Pentaur.” 

“ Thou, then, art the poet of the house of Seti?” 

“ They call me so.” 

Bent-Anat stood still a moment, gazing full at him as at 
a kinsman whom we meet for the first time face to face, 
and said: 

“ The gods have given thee great gifts, for thy glance 
reaches further and pierces deeper than that of other men; 
and thou canst say in words what we can only feel — I 
follow thee willingly!” 

Pentaur blushed like a boy, and said, while Paaker and 
Nefert came nearer to them: 

“ Till to-day life lay before me as if in twilight; but this 
moment shows it to me in another light. I have seen its 
deepest shadows ; and,” he added in a low tone, “ how 
glorious its light can be.” 


CHAPTER VII. 

An hour later, Bent-Anat and her train of followers 
stood before the gate of the House of Seti. 

Swift as a ball thrown from a man’s hand, a runner had 
sprung forward and hurried on to announce the approach 
of the princess to the chief priest. She stood alone in her 
chariot in advance of all her companions, for Pentaur had 
found a place with Paaker. At the gate of the temple 
they were met by the head cf the haruspices. 

The great doors of the Pvlon were wide open, and 
afforded a view into the forecourt of the sanctuary, paved 
with polished squares of stone, and surrounded on three 
sides with colonnades. The walls and architraves, the 
pillars and the fluted cornice, which slightly curved in over 
the court, were gorgeous with many-colored figures and 
painted decorations. In the middle stood a great sacri- 
ficial altar, on which burned logs of cedar wood, while 
fragrant balls of Kyphi* were consumed by the flames, 

* Kyphi was a celebrated Egyptian incense. Recipes for its prepa- 
ration have been preserved in the papyrus of Ebers, in the labora- 
tories of the temples, and elsewhere. Partliey had three different 
varieties prepared by the chemist, L. Voigt, in Berlin. Kyphi, 


% 


VARDA. 


filling the wide space with their heavy perfume. Around, 
in semi-circular, array, stood more than a hundred white- 
robed priests, who all turned to face the approaching prin- 
cess, and sang heart-rending songs of lamentation. 

Many of the inhabitants of the Necropolis had col- 
lected on either side of the lines of sphinxes, between 
which the princess drove up to the sanctuary. But none 
asked what these songs of lamentation might signify, for 
about this sacred place lamentation and mystery forever 
lingered. “ Hail to the child of Rameses!” “ All hail to 
the daughter of the Sun!” rang from a thousand throats; 
and the assembled multitude bowed almost to the earth at 
the approach of the royal maiden. 

At the Pylon, the princess descended from her chariot, 
and preceded by the chief of the haruspices, who had 
gravely and silently greeted her, passed on to the door of 
the temple. But as she prepared to cross the forecourt, 
suddenly, without warning, the priests* chant swelled to a 
terrible, almost thundering loudness, the clear, shrill 
voices of the Temple scholars rising in passionate lament, 
supported by the deep and threatening roll of the basses. 

Bent-Anat started and checked her steps. Then she 
walked on again. 

But on the theshold of the door, Ameni, in full pontifical 
robes, stood before her in the way, his crozier extended as 
though to forbid her entrance. 

“ The advent of the daughter of Raineses in her purity,” 
he cried in loud and passionate tones, augurs blessing to 
this sanctuary; but this abode of the gods closes its portals 
on the unclean, be they slaves or princes. In the name of 
the Immortals, from whom thou art descended, 1 ask thee, 
Bent-Anat, art thou clean, or hast thou, through the 
touch of the unclean, defiled thyself and contaminated thy 
royal hand?” 

Deep scarlet flushed the maiden’s cheeks, there was a 
rushing sound in her ears as of a stormy sea surging close 
beside her, and her bosom rose and fell in passionate emo- 
tion. The kingly blood in her veins boiled wildly; she 
felt that an unworthy part had been assigned to her in a 

after the formula of Dioskorides, was the best. It consisted of 
rosin, wine, Rad, Galangae, juniper-berries, the root of the aromatic 
rush, asphalt, mastic, myrrh, Burgundy grapes, and honey. 


UARDA. 


77 


carefully-premeditated scene; she forgot her resolution to ac- 
cuse herself of uncleanness, and already her lips were 
parted in vehement protest against the priestly assumption 
that so deeply stirred her to rebellion, when Ameni, who 
had placed himself directly in front of the princess, raised 
his eyes, and turned them full upon her with all the 
depths of their indwelling earnestness. 

The words died away, and Bent Anat stood silent, but 
she endured the gaze, and returned it proudly and 
defiantly. 

The blue veins started in Amends forehead, yet he re- 
pressed the resentment which was gathering like thunder 
clouds in his soul, and said, with a voice that gradually 
deviated more and more from its usual moderation: 

“ For the second time the gods demand through me, 
their representative: Hast thou entered this holy place in 
order that the Celestials may purge thee of the defile- 
ment that stains thy body and soul?” 

“ My father will communicate the answer to thee,” re- 
plied Bent-Anat, shortly and proudly. 

“Not to me,” returned Ameni, “but to the gods, in 
whose name I now command thee to quit this sanctuary, 
which is defiled by thy presence.” 

Bent-AnaFs whole form quivered. “ I will go,” she 
said, with sullen dignity. 

She turned to recross the gateway of the Pylon. At 
the first step her glance met the eye of the poet.' 

As one to whom it is vouchsafed to stand and gaze at 
some great prodigy, so Pentaur had stood opposite the 
royal maiden, uneasy and yet fascinated, agitated, yet with 
secretly uplifted soul. Her deed seemed to him of 
boundless audacity, and yet one suited to her true and 
noble nature. By her side, Ameni, his revered and ad- 
mired master, sank into insignificance; and when she 
turned to leave the temple, his hand was raised indeed to 
hold her back, but as his glance met hers, his hand refused 
its office, and sought instead to still the throbbing of his 
overflowing heart. 

The experienced priest, meanwhile, read the features of 
these two guileless beings like an open book. A quickly 
formed tie, he felt, linked their souls, and the look which 
he s^w them exchange startled him. The rebellious prin- 


78 


UABJDA . 


cess had glanced at the poet as though claiming approba- 
tion for her triumph, and PentauPs eyes had responded to 
the appeal. 

One instant Ameni paused. Then he cried “Bent' 
Anat!” 

The princess turned to the priest, and looked at him 
gravely and inquiringly. 

Ameni took a step forward, and stood between her and 
the poet. 

“ Thou wouldst challenge the gods to combat,” he said 
sternly. “That is bold; but such daring it seems to me 
has grown up in thee because thou canst count on an ally, 
who stands scarcely farther from the Immortals than I my- 
self. Hear this: to thee, the misguided child, much may 
be forgiven. But a servant of the Divinity,” and with 
these words he turned a threatening glance on Pentaur, “a 
priest, who in the war of free-will against law becomes a 
deserter, who forgets his duty and his oath — he will not 
long stand beside thee to support thee, for he — even 
though every God had blessed him with the richest gifts 
— he is damned. We drive him from among us, we curse 
him, we ” 

At these words Bent-Anat looked now at Ameni, trem- 
bling with excitement, and now at Pentaur standing oppo- 
site to her. Her face was red and white by turns, as light 
and shade chase each other on the ground when at noon- 
day a palm grove is stirred by a storm. 

The poet took a step toward her. 

She felt that if he spoke it would be to defend all that 
she had done, and to ruin himself. A deep sympathy, a 
nameless anguish seized her soul, and before Pentaur could 
open his lips, she had sunk slowly down before Ameni, 
saying in low tones: 

“ I have sinned and defiled myself; thou hast said it — 
as Pentaur said it by the hut of the paraschites. Restore 
me to cleanness, Ameni, for I am unclean.” 

Like a flame that is crushed out by a hand, so the fire 
in the high-priesPs eye was extinguished. Graciously, 
almost lovingly, he looked down on the princess, blessed 
her and conducted her before the holy of holies, there had 
clouds of incense wafted round her, anointed her with 
the nine holy oils, and commanded her to return to the 
royal castle, 


UARDA. 


79 


Yet, said he, her guilt was not expiated; she should 
shortly learn by what prayers and exercises she might 
attain once more to perfect purity before the gods, of 
whom he purposed to inquire in the holy place. 

During all these ceremonies the priests stationed in the 
forecourt continued their lamentations. 

The people standing before the temple listened to the 
priests' chant, and interrupted it from time to time with 
ringing cries of wailing, for already a dark rumor of 
what was going on within had spread among the mul- 
titude. 

The sun was going down. The visitors to the Necropo- 
lis must soon be leaving it, and Bent-Anat, for whose ap- 
pearance the people impatiently waited, would not show 
herself. One and another said the princess had been 
cursed, because she had taken remedies to the fair and in- 
jured Uarda, who was known to many of them. 

Among the curious who had flocked together were 
many embalmers, laborers and humble folk, who lived 
in the Necropolis. The mutinous and refractory temper 
of the Egyptians, which brought such heavy suffering on 
them under their later foreign rulers, was aroused, and rising 
with every minute. They reviled the pride of the priests, 
and their senseless, worthless, institutions. A drunken 
soldier, who soon reeled back into the tavern which he had 
but just left, distinguished himself as ringleader, and 
was the first to pick up a heavy stone to fling at the huge 
brass-plated temple gates. A few boys followed his ex- 
ample with shouts, and law-abiding men even, urged by 
the clamor of fanatical women, let themselves be led away 
to stone-flinging and words of abuse. 

Within the House of Seti the priests' chant went on un- 
interruptedly; but at last, when the noise of the crowd 
grew louder, the great gate was thrown open, and with a 
solemn step Ameni, in full robes, and followed by twenty 
pastophori, who bore images of the gods and holy symbols 
on their shoulders — Ameni walked into the midst of the 
crowd. 

All were silent. 

“Wherefore do you disturb our worship?" he asked, 
loudly and calmly. / 

A roar of confused cries answered him, in which the 


80 


UARDA. 


frequently repeated name of Bent Anat could alone be dis- 
tinguished. 

Ameni preserved his immovable composure, and, raising 
his crozier, he cried: 

“Make way for the daughter of Rameses, who sought 
and has found purification from the gods, who behold the 
guilt of the highest as of the lowest among you. They re- 
ward the pious, but they punish the offender. Kneel down 
and let us pray that they may forgive you and bless both 
you and your children.” 

Ameni took the holy Sistrum* from one of the at- 
tendant pastophori, and held it on high; the priests behind 
him raised a solemn hymn, and the crowd sank on their 
knees; nor did they move till the chant ceased and the 
high-priest agaiu cried out: 

“The Immortals bless you by me their servant. Leave 
this spot and make wav for the daughter of Rameses.” 

With these words he withdrew into the temple, and the 
patrol, without meeting with any opposition, cleared the 
road guarded by Sphinxes which led to the Nile. 

As Bent- Anat mounted her chariot Ameni said: 

“ Thou art the child of kings. The house of thv father 
rests on the shoulders of the people. Loosen the old laws 
which hold them subject, and the people will conduct 
themselves like these fools.” 

Ameni retired. Bent-Anat slowly arranged the reins in 
her hand, her eyes resting the while on the poet, who, lean- 
ing against a door-post, gazed at her in beatitude. She 
let her whip fall to the ground, that he might pick it up 
and restore it to her, but he did not observe it. A runner 
sprang forward and handed it to the princess, whose horses 
started off, tossing themselves and neighing. 


* A rattling metal instrument used by the Egyptians in the service 
of the Gods. Many specimens are extant in Museums. Plutarch 
describes it correctly, thus: “ The Sistrum. is rounded above, and the 
loop holds the four bars which are shaken. On the bend of the 
Sistrum they often set the head of a cat with a human face ; below 
the four little bars, on one side is the face of Isis, on the other 
that of Nephtliys.” The cat head is seen on a bronze Sistrum in the 
Berlin Museum ; on other examples we find at the upper end of 
the handle the usual mask of Hathor. In the sanctuary of this God- 
dess at Dendera the image of the holy Sistrum was thrown into great 
prominence. 


UARDA. 


81 


Pentaur remained as if spell-bound, standing by the 
pillar, till the rattle of the departing wheels on the flag- 
way of the Avenue of Sphinxes had altogether died away, 
and the reflection of the glowing sunset painted the eastern 
hills with soft and rosy hues. 

The far-sounding clang of a brass gong roused the poet 
from his ecstasy. It was the tom-tom calling him to duty, 
to the lecture on rhetoric, which at this hour he had to 
deliver to the young priests. He laid his left hand to his 
heart, and pressed his right hand to his forehead, as if to 
collect in its grasp his wandering thoughts; then silently 
and mechanically he went toward the open court in which 
his disciples awaited him. But instead of, as usual, con- 
sidering on the way the subject he was to treat, his spirit 
and heart were occupied with the occurrences of the last 
few hours. One image reigned supreme in his imagination, 
filling it with delight — it was that of the fairest woman, 
who, radiant in her royal dignity and trembling with pride, 
had thrown herself in the dust for his sake. He felt as if 
her action had' invested his whole being with a new and 
princely worth, as if her glance had brought light to his 
inmost soul, he seemed to breathe a freer air, to be borne 
onward on winged feet. 

In such a mood he appeared before his hearers. 

When he found himself confronting all the well-known 
faces, he remembered what it was he was called upon to 
do. He supported himself against the wall of the court, 
and opened the papyrus-roll handed to him by his favorite 
pupil, the young Anana. It was the book which twenty- 
four hours ago he had promised to begin upon. He looked 
now upon the characters that covered it, and felt that he 
was unable to read a word. 

With a powerful effort he collected himself, and looking 
upward tried to find the thread he had cut at the end of 
yesterday’s lecture, and intended to resume to-day; but 
"between yesterday and to-day, as it seemed to him, lay a 
vast sea whose roaring surges stunned his memory and 
powers of thought. ♦ 

His scholars, squatting cross-legged on reed-mats before 
him, gazed in astonishment on their silent master who was 
usually so ready of speech, and looked inquiringly at each 
other. A young priest whispered to his neighbor, “ He is 


82 


UARDA. 


praying ” and Anana noticed with silent anxiety the 

strong hand of his teacher clutching the manuscript so 
tightly that the slight material of which it consisted 
threatened to split. 

At last Pentaur looked down; he had found a subject. 
While he was looking upward his gaze fell on the opposite 
wall, and the painted name of the king with the accom- 
panying title “ the good God 93 met his eye. Starting from 
these words he put this question to his hearers, “ How do 
we apprehend the Goodness of the Divinity ?” 

He challenged one priest after another to treat this 
subject as if he were standing before his future congre- 
gation. 

Several disciples rose, and spoke with more or less truth 
and feeling. At last it came to Anana’s turn, who, in well- 
chosen words, praised the purposeful beauty of animate 
and inanimate creation, in which the goodness of Amon,* 
of Ra,f and Ptah,J as well as of the other gods, finds expres- 
sion. 

Pentaur listened to the youth with folded arms, now 
looking at him inquiringly, now nodding approbation. 

*Amon, that is to say, “the hidden one.” He was the god of 
Thebes, which was under his aegis, and after the Hyksos were 
expelled from the Nile valley, he was united with Ra of Heliopolis 
and endowed with the attributes of all the remaining gods. His 
nature was more and more spiritualized, till in the esoteric philoso- 
phy of the time of the Raineses he is compared to the All-filling and 
Ali-guiding intelligence. He is “the husband of his mother, his 
own father, and his own son.” As the living Osiris, he is the soul 
and spirit of all creation, which first enters on a higher order of 
existence through him. He was “ benevolent,” “ beautiful,” 
“ without equal,” and also was called the “ annihilator of evil ” — by 
which man expressed his reverence for the hidden power which 
raises the good, and overthrows the wicked. He is recognized by the 
tall double plume on his crown. He was represented with a rain’s 
head as Amon Chnem. 

fRa, originally the Sun-god; later his name was introduced into 
the pantheistic mystic philosophy for that of the god who is the 
Universe. 

X Ptah is the Greek Hephaistos, the oldest of the gods, the great 
maker of the material for the creation, the “first beginner,” by 
whose side the seven Clinemu stand, as architects, to help him, and 
who was named “the lord of truth,” because the laws and conditions 
of being proceeded from him. He created also the germ of light, he 
stood, therefore, at the head of the solar gods, and was called the 


UARDA. 


83 


Then taking up the thread of the discourse when it was 
ended, he began himself to speak. 

Like obedient falcons at the call of the falconer, thoughts 
lushed down into his mind, and the divine passion 
awakened in his breast glowed and shone through his in- 
spired language that soared every moment on freer and 
stronger wings. Melting into pathos, exulting in ran ture, 
lie praised the splendor of nature; and the words flowed 
from his lips like a limpid crystal-clear stream as he glori- 
fied the eternal order of things, and the incomprehensible 
wisdom and care of the Creator — the One, who is one alone, 
and great, and without equal. 

“ So incomparable,” he said in conclusion, “ is the home 
which God has given us. All that He— the one— has 
created is penetrated with His own essence, and bears wit- 
ness to His goodness. He who knows how to find Him 
sees Him everywhere, and lives at every instant in the en- 
joyment of His glory. Seek Him, and when ye have 
found Him fall down and sing praises before Him. But 
praise the Highest, not only in gratitude for the splendor 
of that which He has created, but for having given us the 
capacity for delight in His work. Ascend the mountain- 
peaks and look on the distant country, worship when the 
sunset glows with rubies, and the dawn with roses, go out 
in the night-time, and look at the stars as they travel in 
eternal, unerring, immeasurable, and endless circles on 
silver barks through the blue vault of heaven, stand by 
the cradle of the child, by the buds of the flowers, 
and see how the mother bends over the one, and the 
bright dew-drops fall on the other. But would you 
know where the stream of divine goodness is most 
freely poured out, where the grace of the Creator be- 
stows the richest gifts, and where His holiest altars are 
prepared ? In your own heart; so long as it is pure 
and full of love. In such a heart, nature is reflected 
as in a magic-mirror, on whose surface the beautiful 

creator of ice, from which, when he had cleft it, the sun and the 
moon came forth. Hence his name ‘‘the opener.” Memphis was 
the center of his worship, Apis his sacred animal. In the mysteries 
of the under- world, and of immortality, he appears usually under the 
name of Ptah Sodar Osiris, who grants to the setting sun the power 
to rise again, as to the dead the power of resurrection, 


84 


UARDA. 


shines in threefold beauty. There the eye can reach far 
away over stream, and meadow, and hill, and take in the 
whole circle of the earth; there the morning and evening 
red shine, not like roses and rubies, but like the very 
cheeks of the Goddess of Beauty; there the stars circle on, 
not in silence, but with the mighty voices of the pure eter- 
nal harmonies of heaven; there the child smiles like an 
infant-god, and the bud unfolds to magic flowers; finally, 
there thankfulness grows broader and devotion grows 
deeper, and we throw ourselves into the arms of a god, 
who — as I imagine his glory — is a god to whom the sub- 
lime nine great gods pray as miserable and helpless 
suppliants.” 

The tom-tom which announced the end of the hour 
interrupted him. 

Pentaur ceased speaking with a deep sigh, and for 
a minute not a scholar moved. 

At last the poet laid the papyrus-roll out of his hand, 
wiped the sweat from his hot brow, and walked slowly to- 
ward the gate of the court, which led into the sacred grove 
of the temple. He had hardly crossed the threshold when 
he felt a hand laid upon his shoulder. 

He looked round. Behind him stood Ameni. 

“ You fascinated your hearers, my friend,” said the 
high-priest, coldly; “ it is a pity that only the harp was 
wanting.” 

Amends words fell on the agitated spirit of the poet like 
ice on the breast of a man in fever. He knew this tone in 
his master's voice, for thus he was accustomed to reprove 
bad scholars and erring priests; but to him lie had never 
yet so spoken. 

“It certainly would seem,” continued the high-priest, 
bitterly, “as if in your intoxication you had forgotten 
what it becomes the teacher to utter in the lecture-hall. 
Only a few weeks since you swore on my hands to guard 
the mysteries, and this day you have offered the great 
secret of the Unnameable one, the most sacred possession 
of the initiated, like some cheap ware in the open market.” 

“ Thou cuttest with knives,” said Pentaur. 

“ May they prove sharp, and extirpate the undeveloped 
canker, the rank weed from your soul,” cried the higli- 
priest, “You are young, too young; not like the tender 


VARDA. 


85 


fruit-tree that lets itself be trained aright, and brought to 
perfection, but like the green fruit on the ground, which 
will turn to poison for the children who pick it up — yea 
even though it fall from a sacred tree. Gagabu and I re- 
ceived you among us, against the opinion of the majority 
of the initiated. We gainsaid all those who doubted your 
ripeness because of your youth; and you swore to me, 
gratefully and enthusiastically, to guard the mysteries and 
f the law. To-day for the first time I set you on the battle- 
* field of life beyond the peaceful shelter of the schools. And 
how have you defended the standard that it was incum- 
bent on you to uphold and maintain ?” 

“ I did that which seemed to me to be right and true,” 
answered Pentaur deeply moved. 

“ Right is the same for you as for us — what the law pre- 
scribes; and what is truth?” 

“ None has lifted her veil,” said Pentaur, “ but my soul 
is the offspring of the soul-filled body of the All; a portion 
of the infallible spirit of the Divinity stirs in my breast, 
and if it shows itself potent in me ” 

“ How easily we may mistake the flattering voice of self- 
love for that of the Divinity!” 

“ Cannot the Divinity which works and speaks in me — 
as in thee — as in each of us — recognize Himself and His 
own voice?” 

“ If the crowd were to hear you,” Ameni interrupted 
him, “ each would set himself on his little throne, would 
proclaim the voice of the god within him as his guide, 
tear the law to shreds, and let the fragments fly to the 
desert on the east wind.” 

“I am one of the elect whom thou thyself hast taught 
to seek and to find the One. The light which I gaze on 
and am blest, would strike the crowd — I do not deny it — 
with blindness ” 

“And nevertheless you blind our disciples with the 
dangerous glare ” 

“ I am educating them for future sages.” 

“And that with the hot overflow of a heart intoxicated 
with love!” 

“Ameni!” 

“ I stand before you, uninvited, as your teacher, who 
reproves you out of the law, which always and everywhere 


86 


VARDA. 


is wiser than the individual, whose ‘ defender 9 the king — 
among his highest titles — boasts of being, and to which 
the sage bows as much as the common man whom we bring 
up to blind belief — I stand before you as your father, who 
lias loved you from a child, and expected from none of 
his disciples more than from you; and who will therefore 
neither lose you nor abandon the hope lie Las set upon 
you. 

“ Make ready to leave our quiet house early to-morrow 
morning. You have forfeited your office of teacher. You 
shall now go into the school of life, and make yourself fit 
for the honored rank of the initiated which, by my error, 
was bestowed on you too soon. You must leave your 
scholars without any leave-taking, however hard it may 
appear to you. After the star of Sothis* has risen come 
for your instructions. You must in these next months 
try to lead the priesthood in the temple of Hatasu, and 
in that post to win back my confidence which you have 
thrown away. No remonstrance ; to-night you will 
receive my blessing, and our authority — you mint greet 
the rising sun from the terrace of the new scene of your 
labors. May the Unnameable stamp the law upon your 

Ameni returned to his room. 

He walked restlessly to and fro. 

On a little table lay a mirror; he looked into the clear 
metal pane, and laid it back in its place again, as if he had 
seen some strange and displeasing countenance. 

The events of the last few hours had moved him deeply, 
and shaken his confidence in his unerring judgment of 
men and things. 

The priests on the other bank of the Nile were Bent- 
Anat’s counsellors, and he had heard the princess spoken 
of as a devout and gifted maiden. Her incautious breach 
of the sacred institutions had seemed to him to offer a 
welcome opportunity for humiliating a member of the 
royal family. 

Now he told himself that he had undervalued this young 

* The holy star of Isis, Sirius, or the dog-star, whose course in the 
time of the Pharaohs coincided with the exact solar year, and served 
at a very early date as a foundation for the reckoning of time among 
the Egyptians. 


XJARBA. 


87 


creature, that he had behaved clumsily, perhaps foolishly, 
to her; for he did not for a moment conceal from himself 
that her sudden change of demeanor resulted much more 
from the warm flow of her sympathy, or perhaps of her 
affection, than from any recognition of her guilt, and lie 
could not utilize her transgression with safety to himself, 
unless she felt herself guilty. 

Nor was he of so great a nature as to be wholly free 
from vanity, and his vanity had been deeply wounded by 
the haughty resistance of the princess. 

When he commanded Pentaur to meet the princess with 
words of reproof, he had hoped to awaken his ambition 
through the proud sense of power over the mighty ones of 
the earth. 

And now? 

How had his gifted admirer, the most hopeful of all his 
disciples, stood the test. 

The one ideal of his life, the unlimited dominion of the 
priestly idea over the minds of men, and of the priesthood 
over the king himself, had hitherto remained unintelligible 
to this singular young man. 

He must learn to understand it. 

ft Here, as the least among a hundred who are his 
superiors, all the powers of resistance of his soaring soul 
have been roused,” said Ameni to himself. “In the 
temple of Hatasu he will have to rule over the inferior 
orders of slaughterers of victims and incense-burners; and, 
by requiring obedience, will learn to estimate the neces- 
sity of it. The rebel, to whom a throne devolves, becomes 

tyrant !” 

“ Pentaur’s poet soul,” so he continued to reflect, “ has 
quickly yielded itself a prisoner to the charm of Bent- 
Anat; and what woman could resist this highly favored 
being, who is radiant in beauty as Ra-Harmachis, and from 
whose lips flows speech as sweet as Techuti’s. They ought 
never to meet again, for no tie must bind him to the house 
! of Kameses.” 

Again he paced to and fro, and murmured: 

“ How is this? Two of my disciples have towered above 
their fellows, in genius and gifts, like palm-trees above the 
I undergrowth. I brought them up to succeed me, to in- 
herit my labors and my hopes. 


88 


VARDA. 


“ Mesu * fell away; and Pentanr may follow him. 

“ Must my aim be an unworthy one because it does no\ 
attract the noblest? Not so. Each feels himself made of 
better stuff than his companions in destiny, constitutes 
his own law, and fears to see the great expended in trifles; 
but I think otherwise; like a brook of ferruginous water 
from Lebanon, I mix with the great stream, and tinge it 
with my color.” 

Thinking thus Ameni stood still. 

Then he called to one of the so-called “holy fathers,” 
his private secretary, and said: 

“Draw up at once a document, to be sent to all the 
priests* colleges in the land. Inform them that the 
daughter of Rameses has lapsed seriously from the law, 
and defiled herself, and direct that public — you hear me, 
public — prayers shall be put up for her purification in 
every temple. Lay the letter before me to be signed within 
an hour. But no! Give me your reed and palette; I will 
myself draw up the instructions.” 

The “ holy father ” gave him writing materials, and 
retired into the background. Ameni muttered: “The 
king will do us some unheard-of violence! Well, this 
writing may be the first arrow in opposition to his lance.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

The moon was risen over the city of the living that lay 
opposite the Necropolis of Thebes. 

The evening song had died away in the temples, that 
stood about a mile from the Nile, connected with each 
other by avenues of sphinxes and pylons; but in the streets 
of the city life seemed only just really awak^. 

The coolness, which had succeeded the heat of the sum- 
mer day, tempted the citizens out into the air, in front of 
their doors or on the roofs and turrets of their houses; or 
at the tavern^tables, where they listened to the tales of the 
story-tellers while they refreshed themselves with beer, 


* Mesu is tlie Egyptian name of Moses, whom we may consider as 
a contemporary of Hameses, under whose successor the exodus of the 
Jews from Egypt took place. 


UARDA. 


89 


wine, and the sweet juice of fruits. Many simple folks 
squatted in circular groups on the ground, and joined in 
the burden of songs which were led by an appointed singer, 
to the sound of a tabor and flute. 

To the south of the temple of Arnon stood the king’s 
palace, and near it, in more or less extensive gardens, rose 
the houses of the magnates of the kingdom, among which 
one was distinguished by its splendor and extent. 

Paaker, the king's pioneer, had caused it to be erected 
after the death of his father, in the place of the more 
homely dwelling of his ancestors, when he hoped to bring 
home his cousin, and install her as its mistress. 

A few yards farther to the west was another stately 
though older and less splendid house, which Mena, the 
king's charioteer, had inherited from his father, and 
which was inhabited by his wife Nefert and her mother 
Katuti, while he himself, in the distant Syrian land, 
shared the tent of the king, as being his body guard. 

Before the door of each house stood servants bearing 
torches, and awaiting the long deferred return home of 
their masters. 

The gate, which gave admission to Paaker's plot of 
ground through the wall which surrounded it, was dispro- 
portionately, almost ostentatiously, high and decorated 
with various paintings. On the right hand and on the 
left, two cedar-trunks were erected as masts to carry 
standards; he had had them felled for the purpose on Leba- 
non, and forwarded by ship to Pelusium on the north-east 
coast of Egypt. Thence they were conveyed by the Nile 
to Thebes. 

On passing through the gate one entered a wide, paved 
court-yard,* at the sides of which walks extended, closed 
in at the back, and with roofs supported on slender 
painted wooden columns. Here stood the pioneer's horses 
and chariots, here dwelt his slaves, and here the necessary 
store of produce for the month's requirements was kept. 

In the further wall of this store-court was a very high 
door-way, that led into a large garden with rows of well- 

* The inheritance of Paaker is described from the beautiful pictures 
of houses and buildings in the tombs of Tel el Amarna (represented 
in Lepsius’ monuments of Egypt). To own a garden was considered 
particularly lucky. 


90 


HARD A. 


tended trees and trellised vines, clumps of shrubs, flowers, 
and beds of vegetables. Palms, sycamores, and acacia- 
trees, figs, pomegranates, and jasmine throve here particu- 
larly well — for Paaker’s mother, Setchem, superintended 
the labors of the gardeners; and in the large tank in the 
midst there was never any lack of water for watering the 
beds and the roots of the trees, as it was always supplied 
by two canals, into which wheels turned by oxen poured 
water day and night from the Nile-stream. 

On the right side of this plot of ground rose the one- 
storied dwelling house, its length stretching into distant 
perspective, as it consisted of a single row of living and 
bedrooms. Almost every room had its own door that 
opened into a veranda supported by colored wooden 
columns, and which extended the whole length of the 
garden side of the house. This building was joined at a 
right angle by a row of store-rooms, in which the garden 
produce in fruits and vegetables, the wine-jars, and the 
possessions of the house in woven stuffs, skins, leather, and 
other property were kept. 

In a chamber of strong masonry lay safely locked up the 
vast riches accumulated by Paaker’s father and by himself; 
in gold and silver rings, vessels and figures of beasts. Nor 
was there lack of bars of copper and of precious stones, 
particularly of lapis lazuli and malachite. 

In the middle of the garden stood a handsomely deco- 
rated kiosk, and a chapel with images of the gods; in the 
background stood the statues of Paaker’s ancestors in the 
form of Osiris wrapped in mummy-cloths.* The faces, 
which were likenesses, alone distinguished these statues 
from each other. 


*Tlie justified dead became Osiris; that is to say, attained to the 
fullest union (Henosis) with the divinity. The Osiris-myth has been 
restored in all its parts from the literary remains of the Egyptians- 
Plutarch records it in detail. Omitting minor matters it is as follows: 
Isis and Osiris reigned blissful and benignant in the Nile valley; 
Typhon (Seth) induced Osiris to lay himself in a chest-, locked it with 
his seventy companions, and set it on the Nile, which carried it 
north, to the sea. It was cast on shore at Byblos. Isis sought it 
lamenting, found it, and brought it back to Egypt. While she was 
seeking for her son Horus, Typhon found the body, cut it into four- 
teen parts, and strewed them throughout the land. Horus having 
meanwhile grown up, fights with Typhon, and conquers him, and 


XI AULA. 


91 

The left side of the stove-yard was veiled in gloom, yet the 
moonlight revealed numerous dark figures clothed only 
with aprons, the slaves of the king’s pioneer, who squatted 
on the ground in groups of five or six, or lay near each 
other on thin mats of palm-bast, their hard beds. 

Not far from the gate, on the right side of the court, a 
few lamps lighted up a group of dusky men, the officers 
of Paaker’s household, who wore short, shirt-shaped white 
garments, and who sat on a carpet round a table hardly 
two feet high. They were eating their evening meal, 
consisting of a roasted antelope, and large flat cakes of 
bread. Slaves waited on them and filled their earthen 
beakers with 3 r ellow beer. The steward cut up the great 
roast on the table, offered the intendant of the gardens a 
piece of antelope-leg, and said: 

“My arms ache; the mob of slaves get more and more 
dirty and refractory.” 

“I notice it in the palm-trees,” said the gardener, “you 
want so many cudgels that their crowns will soon be as 
bare as a moulting bird.” 

“ We should do as the master does,” said the head- 
groom, “ and get sticks of ebony — they last a hundred 
years. ” 

“At any rate longer than men’s bones,” laughed the 
chief neat-herd, who had come into town from the 
pioneer’s country estate, bringing with him animals for 
sacrifice, butter and cheese. “ If we were all to follow the 
master’s example, we should soon have none but cripples 
in the servants’ house.” 

“Out there lies the lad whose collar-bone he broke yes- 
terday,” said the steward, “ it is a pity, for he was a clever 
mat-plaiter. The old lord hit softer.” 


restores to liis motlier her husband, and to his father — who during 
his apparent death had continued to reign in the under-world — his 
earthly throne. This fanciful myth personified not only the cycle of 
the vegetative life of the earth, but also the path of the sun, and the 
fate of the human soul. The procreative power of nature, and the 
overflow of the Nile come from drought, the light of the sun from 
darkness; man passes through death to life, the principle of good 
comes from evil. Truth appears to be destroyed by Lies; yet each 
triumphs in the spring (the time of the inundations) — in the morning — 
in the other world — or in the day of retribution — as Osiris conquered 
through Horus. 


92 


XJARDA. 


“ You ought to know!” cried a small voice, that sounded 
mockingly, behind the feasters. 

They looked and laughed when they recognized the 
strange guest, who had approached them unobserved. 

The new-comer was a deformed little man about as big 
as a five-year-old boy, with a big head and oldish but un- 
commonly sharply-cut features. 

The noblest Egyptians kept house-dwarfs for sport, and 
this little wight served the wife of Mena in this capacity. 
He was called Nemu, or “ the dwarf,” and his sharp 
tongue made him much feared, though he was a favorite, 
for he passed for a very clever fellow and was a good tale- 
teller. 

“ Make room for me, my lords,” said the little man. 
“ I take very little room, and your beer and roast is in little 
danger from me, for my maw is no bigger than a fly's 
head.” 

“But your gall is as big as that of a Nile-horse,” cried 
the cook. 

“ It grows,” said the dwarf, laughing, “ when a turnspit 
and spoon-wielder like you turns up. There — I will sit 
here.” 

“ You are welcome,” said the steward, “ what do you 
bring?” 

“ Myself.” 

•“ Then you bring nothing great.” 

“Else 1 should not suit you either!” retorted the 
dwarf. “But seriously, my lady mother, the noble 
Katuti, and the regent, who just now is visiting us, sent 
me here to ask you whether Paaker is not yet returned. 
He accompanied the princess and Nefert to the City of the 
Dead, and the ladies are not yet come in. We begin to be 
anxious, for it is already late.” 

The steward looked up at the starry sky and said: “The 
moon is already tolerably high, and my lord meant to be 
home before sundown.” 

“ The meal was ready,” sighed the cook. “ I shall have 
to go to work again if he does not remain out all night.” 

“How should he?” asked the steward. “He is with 
the Princess Bent-Anat.” 

“And my mistress,” added the dwarf. 

“ What will they say to each other,” laughed the gar- 


UARDA. 


93 


dener; “your chief litter-bearer declared that yesterday on 
the way to the City of the Dead they did not speak a word 
to each other. ” 

“ Can you blame the lord if he is angry with the lady 
who was betrothed to him, and then was wed to another? 
When I think of the moment when he learned Nefert’s 
breach of faith I turn hot and cold.” 

“ Care the less for that,” sneered the dawrf, “since you 
must be hot in summer and cold in winter.” 

“It is not evening all day,” cried the head groom. 
“ Paaker never forgets an injury, and we shall live to see 
him pay Mena — high as he is — for the affront he has 
offered him.” 

“My lady Katuti,” interrupted Neinu, “stores up the 
arrears of her son-in-law.” 

“Besides, she has long wished to renew the old friend- 
ship with your house, and the regent too preaches peace. 
Give me a piece of bread, steward. I am hungry!” 

“ The sacks, into which Mena’s arrears flow, seem to be 
empty,” laughed the cook. 

“Empty! empty! much like your wit!” answered the 
dwarf. “Give me a bit of roast meat, steward; and you 
slaves bring me a drink of beer.” 

“ You just now said your maw was no bigger than a 
fly’s head,” cried the cook, “and now you devour meat 
like the crocodiles in the sacred tank of Seeland.* You 
must come from a world of upside-down, where the men 
are as small as flies, and the flies as big as the giants of the 
past.” 

“Yet, I might be much bigger,” mumbled the dwarf, 
while he munched on unconcernedly, “perhaps as big as 
your spite which grudges me the third bit of meat, which 
the steward — may Zefa f bless him with great possessions — 
is cutting out of the back of the antelope.” 

“ There, take it, you glutton, but let out your girdle,” 
said the steward laughing, “ I had cut the slice for myself, 
and admire your sharp nose.” 

“ Ah, noses,” said the dwarf, “ they teach the knowing 
better than any haruspex what is inside a man.” 

*The modern Fajum, where, in the temple of the God Sebek, 
sacred crocodiles were kept and decorated, and expensively fed. 
f Zefa, the goddess of the inundation. 


94 : 


UARDA. 


“ How is that?” cried the gardener. 

“ Only try to display your wisdom,” laughed the 
steward; “for, if you want to talk, you must at last leave 
off: eating.” 

'“ The two may be combined,” said the dwarf. “Listen 
then! A hooked nose, which 1 compare to a vulture's 
beak, is never found together with a submissive spirit. 
Think of the Pharaoh and all his haughty race. The regent, 
on the contrary, has a straight, well-shaped, medium-sized 
nose, like the statue of Amon in the temple, and he is an 
upright soul, and as good as the gods. He is neither 
overbearing nor submissive beyond just what is right; he 
holds neither with the great nor yet with the mean, but 
with men of our stamp. There's the king for us!” 

“ A king of noses!” exclaimed the cook, “I prefer the 
eagle Rameses. But what do you say to the nose of your 
mistress Nefert?” 

“ It is delicate and slender and moves with every thought 
like the leaves of flowers in a breath of wind, and her heart 
is exactly like it.” 

“ And Paaker?” asked the head groom. 

“ He has a large short nose with wide open nostrils. 
When Seth whirls up the sand, and a grain of it flies up 
his nose, he waxes angry — so it is Paaker’s nose, and that 
only, which is answerable for all your blue bruises. His 
mother Setchem, the sister of my lady Katuti, has a little 
roundish soft ” 

“ You pigmy,” cried the steward, interrupting the speaker, 
“ we have fed you and let you abuse people to your heart's 
content, but if you wag your sharp tongue against our 
mistress, I will take you by the girdle and fling you to the 
sky, so that the stars may remain sticking to your crooked 
hump.” 

At these words the dwarf rose, turned to go, and said 
indifferently: “I would pick the stars carefully off my 
back and send you the finest of the planets in return for your 
juicy bit of roast. But here come the chariots. Fare- 
well ! my lords, when the vulture’s beak seizes one of 
you and carries you off to the war in Syria, remember the 
words of the little Nemu who knows men and noses.” 

The pioneer's chariot rattled through the high gates 
into the court of his house, the dogs in their leashes 


UARDA. 


95 


howled joyfully, the head groom hastened toward Paaker 
and took the reins in his charge, the steward accompanied 
him, and the head cook retired into the kitchen to make 
ready a fresh meal for his master. 

Before Paaker had reached the garden gate, from the 
pylon of the enormous temple of Amon was heard first 
the far-sounding clang of hard-struck plates of brass, and 
then the many-voiced chant of a solemn hymn. 

The Mohar stood still, looked up to heaven, called to 
his servants — “ The divine star Sothis is risen !" threw 
himself on the earth, and lifted his arms toward the star 
in prayer. 

The slaves and officers immediately followed his ex- 
ample. 

No circumstance in nature remained unobserved by the 
priestly guides of the Egyptian people. Every phenom- 
enon on earth or in the starry heavens was greeted by 
them as the manifestation of a divinity, and they sur- 
rounded the life of the inhabitants of the Nile valley — 
from morning to evening — from the beginning of the in- 
undation to the days of drought — with a web of chants 
and sacrifices, of processions and festivals, which insepa- 
rably knit the human individual to the Divinity and its 
earthly representatives the priesthood. 

For many minutes the lord and his servants remained 
on their knees in silence, their eyes fixed on the sacred 
star, and listening to the pious chant of the priests. 

As it died away Paaker rose. All around him still lay on 
the earth; only one naked figure, strongly lighted by the 
clear moonlight, stood motionless by a pillar near the 
slaves' quarters. 

The pioneer gave a sign, the attendants rose; but Paaker 
went with hasty steps to the man who had disdained the 
act of devotion, which he had so earnestly performed, and 
cried : 

“Steward, a hundred strokes on the soles of the feet o£ 
this scoffer." 

The officer thus addressed bowed and said : My lord, 
the surgeon commanded the mat-weaver not to move, and 
he cannot lift his arm. He is suffering great pain. Thou 
didst break his collar-bone yesterday." 

“It served him right!" said Paaker, raising his voice so 


96 


UARDA. 


much that the injured man could not fail to hear it. Then 
he turned his back upon him, and entered the garden; here 
he called the chief butler, and said: “ Give the slaves beer 
for their night draught — to all of them, and plenty." 

A few minutes later he stood before his mother, whom 
he found on the roof of the house, which was decorated 
with leafy plants, just as she gave her two-years’-old 
granddaughter, the child of her youngest son, into the 
arms of her nurse, that she might take her to bed. 

Paaker greeted the worthy matron with reverence. 

She was a woman of a friendly, homely aspect; several 
little dogs were fawning on her feet. Her son put aside 
the leaping favorites of the widow, whom they amused 
through many long hours of loneliness, and turned to 
take the child in his arms from those of the attendant. 
But the little one struggled with such loud cries, and 
could not be pacified, that Paaker set it down on the ground 
and involuntarily exclaimed : 

“ The naughty little thing!” 

She has been sweet and good the whole afternoon,” said 
his mother Setchem. “She sees you so seldom.” 

“May be,” replied Paaker; “still I know this — the dogs 
love me, but no child will come to me.” 

“You have such hard hands.” 

“Take the squalling brat away,” said Paaker to the 
nurse. “ Mother, I want to speak to you.” 

Setchem quieted the child, gave it many kisses, and sent 
it to bed ; then she went up to her son, stroked his 
cheeks, and said : 

“If the little one were your own, she would go to you 
at once, and teach you that a child is the greatest blessing 
which the gods bestow on us mortals.” 

Paaker smiled and said: “ I know what you are aiming 
at — but leave it for the present, for I have something im- 
portant to communicate to you.” 

“ Well?” asked Setchem. 

“To-day for the first time since — you know when, I 
have spoken to Nefert. The past may be forgotten. You 
long for your sister; go to her, I have nothing more to say 
against it.” 

Setchem looked at her son with undisguised astonish- 
ment; her eyes, which easily filled with tears, now over- 


UARDA. 


97 


flowed, and she hesitatingly asked: “ Can I believe my 
ears; child, have you ” 

I have a wish,” said Paaker firmly, “ that you should 
knit once more the old ties of affection with your relations; 
the estrangement has lasted long enough.” 

“Much too long!” cried Setchem. 

The pioneer looked in silence at the ground, and obeyed 
his mother's signs to sit down beside her. 

“I knew,” she said, taking his hand, “that this day 
would bring us joy; for I dreamed of your father in Osiris, 
and when I was being carried to the temple, I was met, 
first by a white cow, and then by a wedding procession. 
The white ram of Amon, too, touched the wheat cakes 
that I offered him.”* 

“ Those are lucky presages,” said Paaker, in a tone of 
conviction. 

“And let us hasten to seize with gratitude that which 
the gods set before us,” cried Setchem, with joyful emotion. 
“I will go to-morrow to my sister and tell her that we 
shall live together in our old affection, and share both 
good and evil; we are both of the same race, and I know 
that, as order and cleanliness preserve a house from ruin 
and rejoice the stranger, so nothing but unity can keep up 
the happiness of a family and its appearance before people. 
What is bygone is bygone, and let it be forgotten. There 
are many women in Thebes beside Nefert, and a hundred 
nobles in the land would esteem themselves happy to win 
you for a son-in-law.” 

Paaker rose, and began thoughtfully pacing the broad 
space, while Setchem went on speaking. 

“ I know,” she said, “ that I have touched a wound in 
thy heart; but it is already closing, and it will heal when 
you are happier even than the charioteer Mena, and need 
no longer hate him. Nefert is good, but she is delicate 
and not clever, and scarcely equal to the management of 
so large a household as ours. Ere long I too shall be 
wrapped in mummy-cloths, and then if duty calls you into 
Syria some prudent housewife must take my place. It is 
no small matter. Your grandfather Assa often would say 

* It boded death to (Jermanicus when the Apis refused to eat out of 
his hand. 


98 


UARDA. 


that a house well-conducted in every detail was the mark 
of a family owning an unspotted name, and living with 
wise liberality and secure solidity, in which each had his 
assigned place, his allotted duty to fulfill, and his fixed 
rights to demand. How often have I prayed to the 
Hathors that they may send you a wife after my own 
heart.” 

“A Setchem 1 shall never find!” said Paaker, kissing 
his mother’s forehead; “ women of your sort are dying 
out.” 

“ Flatterer!” Jaughed Setchem, shaking her finger at her 
son. “But it is true. Those who are now growing up 
dress and smarten themselves with stuffs from Kaft,* 
mix their language with Syrian words, and leave the 
steward and housekeeper free when they themselves ought 
to command. Even my sister Katuti, and Nefert ” 

“ Nefert is different from other women,” interrupted 
Paaker, “and if you had brought her up she would 
know how to manage a house as well as how to ornament 
it.” 

Setchem looked at her son in surprise; then she said, 
half to herself: “Yes, yes, she is a sweet child; it is 
impossible for any one to be angry with her who looks 
into her eyes. And yet I was cruel to her because you 
were hurt by her, and because — but you know. But now 
you have forgiven, I forgive her, willingly; her and her 
husband.” 

Paaker’s brow clouded, and while he paused in front 
of his mother he said with all the peculiar harshness of 
his voice: 

“He shall pine away in the desert, and the hyenas of the 
north shall tear his unburied corpse.” 

At these words Setchem covered her face with her veil, 
and clasped her hands tightly over the amulets hanging 
round her neck. Then she said softly: 

“How terrible you can be! I know well that you hate 
the charioteer, for I have seen the seven arrows over your 
couch over which is written "Death to Mena/ That 
is a Syrian charm which a man turns against any one 
whom he desires to destroy. How black you look! Yes, 
it is a charm that is hateful to the gods, and that gives 


*Phcenicia 


UARDA. 


• 99 


the evil one power over him that uses it. Leave it to 
them to punish the criminal, for Osiris withdraws his 
favor from those who choose the fiend for their ally/’ 

“ My sacrifices,” replied Paaker, “ secure me the favor 
of the gods; but Mena behaved to me like a vile robber, 
and I only return to him the evil that belongs to him. 
Enough of this! and if you love me never again utter the 
name of my enemy before me. I have forgiven Nefert 
and her mother — that may satisfy you.” 

Setchem shook her head, and said: “ What will it lead 
to! The war cannot last forever, and if Mena returns 
the reconciliation of to-day will turn to all the more bitter 
enmity. I see only one remedy. Follow my advice, and 
let me find you a wife worthy of you.” 

“ Not now!” exclaimed Paaker, impatiently. “ In a few 
days I must go again into thp enemy's country, and do 
not wish to leave my wife, like Mena, to lead the life of 
a widow during my existence. Why urge it? my brother's 
wife and children are with you — that might satisfy you.” 

“The gods know how I love them,” answered Setchem; 
“ but your brother Horns is the younger, and you the 
elder, to whom the inheritance belongs. Your little niece 
is a delightful plaything, but in your son I should see at 
once the future stay of our race, the future head of the 
family; brought up to my mind and your father's; for 
all is sacred to me that my dead husband wished. He 
rejoiced in your early betrothal to Nefert, and hoped that 
a son of his eldest son should continue the race of Assa.” 

“ It shall be by no fault of mine that any wish of his 
remains unfulfilled. The stars are high, mother; sleep well, 
and if to-morrow you visit Nefert and your sister, say to 
them that the doors of my house are open to them. But 
stay! Katuti's steward has offered to sell a herd of cattle 
to ours, although the stock on Mena’s land can be but 
small. What does that mean?” 

“ You know my sister,” replied Setchem. “ She man- 
ages Mena's possessions, has many requirements, tries to 
vie with the greatest in splendor, sees the governor often 
in her house, her son is no doubt extravagant — and so the 
most necessary things may often be wanting.” 

Paaker shrugged his shoulders, once more embraced his 
mother and left her. 


100 


UARDA. 


Soon after, he was standing in the spacious room in 
which he was accustomed to sit and to sleep when he was 
in Thebes. The walls of this room were whitewashed and 
decorated with pious sentences in hieroglyphic . writing, 
which framed in the door and the window openings into 
the garden. 

In the middle of the further wall was a couch in the 
form of a lion. The upper end of it imitated a lion's 
head, and the foot, its curling tail; a finely dressed lion's 
skin was spread over the bed, and a head-rest of ebony, 
decorated with pious texts, stood on a high footstep, ready 
for the sleeper. 

Above the bed various costly weapons and whips were 
elegantly displayed, and below them the seven arrows over 
which Setchem had read the words “ Death to Mena." 
They were written across a sentence which enjoined feed- 
ing the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, and clothing 
the naked; with loving kindness alike to the great and the 
humble. 

A niche by the side of the bed-head was closed with a 
curtain of purple stuff. 

In each corner of the room stood a statue; three of them 
symbolized the triad of Thebes — Amon, Muth, and 
Chunsu, and the fourth the dead father of the pioneer. 
In front of each was a small altar for offerings, with a 
hollow in it, in which was an odoriferous essence. On a 
wooden stand were little images of the gods and amulets 
in great number, and in several painted chests lay the 
clothes, the ornaments and the papers of the master. In 
the midst of the chamber stood a table and several stool- 
shaped seats. 

When Paaker entered the room he found it lighted with 
lamps, and a large dog sprang joyfully to meet him. He 
let him spring upon him, threw him to the ground, let 
him once more rush upon him, and then kissed his clever 
head. 

Before his bed an old negro of powerful build lay in 
deep sleep. Paaker shoved him with his foot and called 
to him as he awoke : 

“ I am hungry." 

The grey-headed black man rose slowly and left the 
room. 


UARDA. 


101 


As soon as he was alone Paaker drew the philter from 
his girdle, looked at it tenderly, and put it in a box, in 
which there were several flasks of holy oils for sacrifice. 

He was accustomed every evening to fill the hollows in 
the altars with fresh essences, and to prostrate himself in 
prayer before the images of the Hods. 

To-day he stood before the statue of his father, kissed 
its feet, and murmured : “Thy will shall be done. The 
woman whom thou didst intend for me shall indeed be 
mine — thy eldest son’s.” 

Then he walked to and fro and thought over the events 
of the day. 

At last he stood still, with his arms crossed, and looked 
defiantly at the holy images; like a traveler who drives 
away a false guide, and thinks to find the road by himself. 

His eye fell on the arrows over his bed; he smiled, and 
striking his broad breast with his fist, he exclaimed, “ I— 
I— I ” 

His hound, who thought his master meant to call him, 
rushed up to him. He pushed him off and said : 

“If you meet a hyena in the desert, you fall upon it 
without waiting till it is touched by my lance— and if the 
gods, my masters, delay, I myself will defend my right; 
but thou,” he continued, turning to the image of his 
father, “thou wilt support me.” 

This soliloquy was interrupted by the slaves who 
brought in his meal. 

Paaker glanced at the various dishes which the cook 
had prepared for him, and asked: “How often shall I 
command that not a variety, but only one large dish shall 
be dressed for me ? And the wine ?” 

“ Thou art used never to touch it,” answered the old 
negro. 

“ But to-day I wish for some,” said the pioneer. “ Bring 
one of the old jars of red wine of Kakem.”* 

The slaves looked at each other in astonishment; the 
wine was brought, and Paaker emptied beaker after beaker. 
When the servants had left him, the boldest among them 


* A place not far from tlie Pyramid of Saqqarab in the Necropolis 
of Memphis, where, even in remote times, there must have been 
a wine-press, as the red wine of Kakem (Kocliome?) is often 
mentioned. 


tJAUDA. 


102 

said: “ Usually the master eats like a lion, and drinks like 
a midge, but to-day ” 

“ Hold your tongue!” cried his companion, come 
into the court, for Paaker has sent us out beer. The 
Hathors must have met him.” 

The occurrences of the day must indeed have taken deep 
hold on the inmost soul of the pioneer; for he, the most 
sober of all the warriors of Rameses, to whom intoxication 
was unknown, and who avoided the banquets of his asso- 
ciates — now sat at the midnight hours, alone at his table, 
and toped till his weary head grew heavy. 

He collected himself, went toward his couch and drew 
the curtain which concealed the niche at the head of the 
bed. A female figure, with the head-dress and attributes 
of the Goddess Hathor, made of painted limestone, re- 
vealed itself. 

Her countenance had the features of the wife of Mena. 

The king, four years since, had ordered a sculptor to 
execute a sacred image with the lovely features of the 
newly-married bride of his charioteer, and Paaker had suc- 
ceeded in having a duplicate made. 

He now knelt down on the couch, gazed on the image 
with moist eyes, looked cautiously around to see if he was 
alone, leaned forward, pressed a kiss to the delicate, cold 
stone-lips; laid down and went to sleep without undressing 
himself, and leaving the lamps to burn themselves out. 

Restless dreams disturbed his spirit, and when the dawn 
grew gray, he screamed out, tormented by a hideous vision, 
so" pitifully, that the old negro, who had laid himself near 
the dog at the foot of his bed, sprang up alarmed, and 
while the dog howled, called him by his name to wake 
him. 

Paaker awoke with a dull headache. The vision which 
had tormented him stood vividly before his mind, and he 
endeavored to retain it that he might summon a haruspex 
to interpret it. After the morbid fancies of the preceding 
evening he felt sad and depressed. 

The morning-hymn rang into his room with a warning 
voice from the temple of Amon; he cast off evil thoughts, 
and resolved once more to resign the conduct of his fate to 
the gods, and to renounce all the arts of magic. 

As he was accustomed, he got into the bath that was 


UAUDA. 


.03 


ready for him. While splashing in the tepid water he 
thought with ever increasing eagerness of Nefert and of 
the philter which at first he had meant not to olfer to her, 
but which actually was given to her by his hand, and 
which might by this time have begun to exercise its 
charm. 

Love placed rosy pictures — hatred set blood-red images 
before his eyes. He strove to free himself from the temp- 
tations, which more and more tightly closed in upon him, 
but it was with him as with a man who has fallen into a 
bog, who, the more vehemently he tries to escape from the 
mire, sinks the deeper. 

As the sun rose, so rose his vital energy and his self- 
confidence, and when he prepared to quit his dwelling, in 
his most costly clothing, he had arrived once more at the 
decision of the night before, and had again resolved to 
fight for his purpose, without — and if need were — against 
the gods. 

The Mohar had chosen his road, and he never turned 
back when once he had begun a journey. 


CHAPTER IX. 

It was noon; the rays of the sun found no way into the 
narrow shady streets of the city of Thebes, but they blazed 
with scorching heat on the broad dyke-road which led to 
the king’s castle, and which at this hour was usually almost 
deserted. 

To-day it was thronged with foot-passengers and chariots, 
with riders and litter-bearers. 

Here and there negroes poured water on the road out of 
skins, but the dust was so deep that, in spite of this, it 
shrouded the streets and the passengers in a dry cloud, 
which extended not only over the city, but down to the 
harbor where the boats of the inhabitants of the Necropo- 
lis landed their freight. 

The City of the Pharaohs was in unwonted agitation, 
for the storm-swift breath of rumor had spread some news 
which excited both alarm and hope in the huts of the poor 
as well as in the palaces of the great. 

In the early morning three mounted messengers had 


104 


VARDA. 


arrived from the king’s camp with heavy letter-bags,* and 
had dismounted at the Regent’s palace. 

As after a long drought the inhabitants of a village gaze 
up at the black thunder-cloud that gathers above their 
heads promising the refreshing rain — but that may also 
send the kindling lightning-flash or the destroying hail- 
storm— so the hopes and the fears of the citizens were cen- 
tered on the news which came but rarely and at irregular 
intervals from the scene of war; for there was scarcely a 
house in the huge city which had not sent a father, a son, 
or a relative to the fighting Rosts of the king in the distant 
north-east. 

And though the couriers from the camp were much 
oftener the heralds of tears than of joy; though the writ- 
ten rolls which they brought told more often of death and 
wounds than of promotion, royal favors, and conquered 
spoils, yet they were expected with soul-felt longing and 
received with shouts of joy. 

Great and small hurried after their arrival to the Regent’s 
palace, and the scribes — who distributed the letters and 
read the news which was intended for public communica- 
tion, and the lists of those who had fallen or perished — were 
closely besieged with inquirers. 

Man has nothing harder to endure than uncertainty, and 
generally, when in suspense, looks forward to bad rather 
than to good news. And the bearers of ill ride faster than 
the messengers of weal. 

The Regent Ani resided in a building adjoining the 
king’s palace. His business-quarters surrounded an im- 
mensely wide court, and consisted of a great number of 
rooms opening into this court, in which numerous scribes 
worked with their chief. On the father side was a large, 
veranda-like hall open at the front, but with a roof sup- 
ported by pillars. 

Here Ani was accustomed to hold courts of justice, and 
to receive officers, messengers, and petitioners. 

To-day he sat, visible to all comers, on a costly throne 

* The Egyptians were great letter- writers, and many of their letters 
have come down to us; they also had established postmen, and had a 
word for them in their language “ fai schat.” Maspero has treated 
the matter extremely well in his paper “ du genre epistolaire chez les 
anciens Egyptiens de l’epoque Pharaonique.” 


UARDA. 


105 


in this hall, surrounded by his numerous followers, and 
overlooking the crowd of people whom the v guardians of 
the peace* guided with long staves, admitting them in 
troops into the court of the “ High Gate,” and then again 
conducting them out. 

What he saw and heard was nothing joyful, for from 
each group surrounding a scribe arose a cry of woe. Few 
and far between were those who had to tell of the rich 
booty that had fallen to their friends. 

An invisible web woven of wailing and tears seemed to 
envelope the assembly. 

Here men were lamenting and casting dust upon their 
heads, there women were rending their clothes, shrieking 
loudly, and crying as they waved their veils: ‘‘Oh, my 
husband! oh, my father! oh, my brother!” 

Parents who had received the news of the death of their 
son fell on each other’s necks weeping; old men plucked 
out their gray hair and beard; young women beat their 
forehead and breast, or implored the scribes who read out 
the lists to let them see for themselves the name of the 
beloved one who was forever torn from them. 

The passionate stirring of a soul, whether it be the 
result of joy or of sorrow, among us moderns covers its 
features with a veil, which it had no need of among the 
ancients. 

Where the loudest laments sounded a restless little being 
might be seen hurrying from group to group ; it was 
Nemu, Katuti’s dwarf, whom we know. 

How he stood near a women of the better class, dis- 
solved in tears because her husband had fallen in the last 
battle. 

“ Can you read?” he asked her; “up there on the archi- 
trave is the name of Rameses, with all his titles. ‘ Dis- 
penser of life,’ he is called. Ay, indeed, he can create — 
widows; for he has all the husbands killed.” 

Before the astonished woman could reply, he stood hy a 
man sunk in woe, and pulling his robe, said : “ Finer 
fellows than your son have never been seen in Thebes. 
Let your youngest starve, or beat him to a cripple, else he 


Presumably a kind of police. — Translator . 


106 


VARDA. 


also will be dragged off to Syria; for Kameses needs much 
good Egyptian meat for the Syrian vultures." 

The old man, who had hitherto stood there in silent 
despair, clenched his fist. The dwarf pointed to the 
regent, and said: “If he there wielded the scepter, there 
would be fewer orphans and beggars by the Nile. To-day 
its sacred waters are still sweet, but soon it will taste as 
salt as the north sea with all the tears that have been shed 
on its banks." 

It almost seemed as if the regent had heard these words, 
for he rose from his seat and lifted his .hands like a man 
who is lamenting. 

Many of the by-standers observed this action; and loud 
cries of anguish filled the wide court-yard, which was soon 
cleared by soldiers to make room for other troops of people 
who were thronging in. 

While these gathered round the scribes, the Regent Ani 
sat with quiet ‘dignity on the throne, surrounded by his 
suite and his secretaries, and held audiences. 

He was a man at the close of his fortieth year and the 
favorite cousimof the king. 

Raineses I, the grandfather of the reigning monarch, 
had deposed the legitimate royal family, and' usurped the 
l sceptre of the Pharaohs. He descended from a Semitic 
race who had remained in Egypt at the time of the ex- 
pulsion of the Hyksos,* and had distinguished itself by 
warlike talents under Thotmes and Amenophis. After 
Ids death he was succeeded by his son Seti, who sought to 
earn a legitimate claim to the throne by marrying Tuaa, 
the granddaughter of Amenophis III. She presented 
him with an only son, whom he named after his father 
Rameses. This prince might lay claim to perfect legit- 
imacy through his mother, who descended directlv from 
the old house of sovereigns; for in Egypt a noble family 

even that of the Pharaohs — might be perpetuated 
through women. 


* These were an eastern race who migrated from Asia into Egypt 
conquered the lower Nile valley, and ruled over if for nearly 
.)()<) years, till they were driven out by the successors of the old 
legitimate Pharaohs, whose dominion had been confined to upper 
Egypt. 


UARDA . 


10 ? 

Seti proclaimed Rameses* partner to his throne, so as to 
remove all doubt as to the validity of his position. The 
young nephew of his wife Tuaa, the Regent Ani, who was 
a few years younger than Rameses, he caused to be 
brought up in the house of Seti and treated like his own 
son, while the other members of the dethroned royal 
family were robbed of their possessions or removed alto- 
gether. 

Ani proved himself a faithful servant to Seti and to his 
son, and was trusted as a brother by the warlike and mag- 
nanimous Rameses, who, however, never disguised from 
himself the fact that the blood in his own veins was less 
purely royal than that which flowed in his cousin's. 

It was required of the race of the Pharaohs of Egypt 
that it should be descended from the Sun-god Ra, and the 
Pharaoh could boast of this high descent only through his 
mother — Ani through both parents. 

But Rameses sat on the throne, held He sceptre with a 
strong hand, and thirteen young sons promised to his 
house the lordship over Egypt to all eternity. 

When, after the death of his warlike father, he went to 
fresh conquests in the north, he appointed Ani, who 
had proved himself worthy, as governor of the province of 
Kusch,f to the regency of the kingdom. 

A vehement character often overestimates the man who 
is endowed with a quieter temperament, into whose nature 
he cannot throw himself, and whose excellences he is un- 
able to imitate; so it happened that the deliberate and 
passionless nature of his cousin impressed the fiery and 
warlike Rameses. 

Ani appeared to be devoid of ambition, or the spirit of 
enterprise; he accepted the dignity that was laid upon him 
with apparent reluctance, and seemed a particularly safe 
person, because he had lost both wife and child, and could 
boast of no heir. 


* Apparently even at liis birth. According to an inscription at 
Abydos, published by Mariette, and first interpreted by Maspero, 
Rameses boasts of having been “ King even in the egg.”- He is the 
Sesostris of the Greeks. His surname Sesesu-Ra is preserved on the 
monuments. When the Greeks speak of the great deeds of Sesostris, 
they include those of Seti and Rameses. 
f Ethiopia. 


UARDA. 


, 108 

He was a man of more than middle height; his features 
were remarkably regular — even beautifully-cut, but smooth 
and with little expression. His clear blue eyes and thin 
lips gave no evidence of the emotions that filled his heart; 
on the contrary, his countenance wore a soft smile that 
could adapt itself to haughtiness, to humility, and to a 
variety of shades of feeling, but which could never be en- 
tirely banished from his face. 

He had listened with affable condescension to the com- 
plaint of a landed proprietor, whose cattle had been driven 
off for the king’s army, and had promised that his case 
should be inquired into. The plundered man was leaving 
full of hope; but when the scribe who sat at the feet of the 
regent inquired to whom the investigation of this en- 
croachment of the troops should be intrusted, Ani said: 
“Each one must bring a victim to the war; it must remain 
among the things that are done, and cannot be undone.” 

The Nomarch* of Suan, in the southern part of the 
country, asked for funds for a necessary new embank- 
ment. The regent listened to his eager representation 
with benevolence, nay with expressions of sympathy; but 
assured him that the war absorbed all the funds of the 
state, that the chests were empty; still he felt inclined — 
even if they had not failed — to sacrifice a part of his own 
income to preserve the endangered arable land of his faith- 
ful province of Suan, to which he desired greeting. 

As soon as the Nomarch had left him, he commanded 
that a considerable sum should be taken out of the treas- 
ury, and sent after the petitioner. 

From time to time, in the middle of conversation, he 
arose, and made a gesture of lamentation, to show to the 
assembled mourners in the court that he sympathized in the 
losses which had fallen on them. 

The sun had already passed the meridian when a dis- 
turbance, accompanied by loud cries, took possession of the 
masses of people, who stood round the scribes in the pal- 
ace court. 

Many men and women were streaming together toward 
one spot, and even the most impassive of the Thebans pres- 
ent turned their attention to an incident so unusual in 
this place. 


*Chief of a Nome or district. 


UARDA. 


109 


A detachment of constabulary made a way through the 
crushing and yelling mob, and another division of Lybian 
police led a prisoner toward a side gate of the court. 
Before they could reach ' it, a messenger came up with 
them, from the regent, who desired to be informed as to 
what had happened. 

The head of the officers of public safety followed him, 
and with eager excitement informed Ani, who was waiting 
for him, that a tiny man, the dwarf of the Lady Katuti, 
had for several hours been going about in the court and 
endeavoring to poison the minds of the citizens with sedi- 
tious speeches. 

Ani ordered that the misguided man should be thrown 
into the dungeon; but so soon as the chief officer had left 
him, he commanded his secretary to have the dwarf 
brought into his presence before sundown. 

While he was giving this order an excitement of another 
kind seized the assembled multitude. 

As the sea parted and stood on the right hand and on 
the left of the Hebrews, so that no wave wetted the foot of 
the pursued fugitives, so the crowd of people of their 
own free will, but as if in reverent submission to some high 
command, parted and formed a broad way, through which 
walked the high-priest of the House of Seti, as, full robed 
and accompanied by some of the “ holy fathers,” he now 
entered the court. 

The regent went to meet him, bowed before him, and 
then withdrew to the back of the hall with him alone. 

“It is nevertheless incredible,” said Ameni,” “that our 
serfs are to follow the militia!” 

“ Rameses requires soldiers — to conquer,” replied the 
regent. 

“And we bread — to live,” exclaimed the priest. 

“Nevertheless I am commanded, at once, before the 
seed-time, to levy the temple serfs. I regret the order, but 
the king is the will, and I am only the hand.” 

“ The hand, which he makes use of to sequester ancient 
rights, and to open a wav to the desert over the fruitful 
land.” 

“ Your acres will not long remain unprovided for. 
Rameses will win new victories with the increased army, 
and the help of the gods,” 


ilO 


VARDA . 


“ The gods! whom he insults!” 

“After the conclusion of peace he will reconcile the 
gods by doubly rich gifts. He hopes confidently for an 
early end to the war, and writes to' me that after the next 
battle he wins he intends to offer terms to the Cheta. A 
plan of the king’s is also spoken of— to marry again, and, 
indeed, the daughter of the Cheta King Chetasar.” 

Up to this moment the regent had kept his eyes cast 
down. Now he raised them, smiling, as if he would fain 
enjoy Ameni’s satisfaction, and asked: 

“ What dost thou say to this project?” 

“I say,” returned Ameni, and his voice, usually so 
stern* took a tone of amusement. “ I say that Rameses 
seems to think that the blood of thy cousin and of his 
mother, which gives him his right to the throne, is incapa- 
ble of pollution.” 

“It is the blood of the Sun-god!” 

“ Which runs but half pure in his veins, but wholly pure 
in thine.” 

The regent made a deprecatory gesture, and said softly, 
with a smile which resembled that of a dead man: 

“We are not alone.” 

“No one is here,” said Ameni, “who can hear us; and 
what I say is known to every child.” 

“ But if it came to the king’s ears” whispered Ani, 
“ he ” 

“He would perceive how unwise it is to derogate from 
the ancient rights of those on whom it is incumbent to 
prove the purity of blood of the sovereign of this land. 
However, Rameses sits on the throne; may life bloom for 
him, with health and strength!”* 

The regent bowed, and then asked: 

“ Do you propose to obey the demand of the Pharaoh 
without delay?” 

“ He is the king. Our council, which will meet in a 
few days, can only determine lioiv, and not ichether, we shall 
fulfill his command.” 

“You will retard the departure of the serfs, and Rameses 
requires them at once. The bloody labor of the war 
demands new tools.” 

* A formula which even in private letters constantly follows the 
name of the Pharaoh, 


VARDA. 


Ill 


“ And the peace will perhaps demand anew master, who 
understands how to employ the sons of the land to its 
greatest advantage — a genuine son of-Ka.” 

The regent stood opposite the high-priest, motionless as 
an image cast in bronze, and remained silent; but Ameni 
lowered his staff before him as before a god, and then went 
into the fore part of the hall. 

When Ani followed him a soft smile played as usual 
upon his countenance, and full of dignity he took his seat 
on the throne. 

“ Art thou at an end of thy communications?” he asked 
the high-priest. 

“ It remains for me to inform you all,” replied Ameni, 
with a louder voice, to be heard by all the assembled digni- 
taries, “ that the Princess Bent-Anat yesterday morning 
committed a heavy sin, and that in all the temples in the 
land the gods shall be eittreated with offerings to take 
her uncleanness from her.” 

Again a shadow passed over the smile on the regent's 
countenance. He looked meditatively on the ground, and 
then said: 

“ To-morrow I will visit the House of Seti; till then I 
beg that this affair may be left to rest.” 

Ameni bowed, and the regent left the hall to withdraw 
to a wing of the king’s palace, in which he dwelt. 

On his writing-table lay sealed papers. He knew that 
they contained important news for him; but he loved to do 
violence to his curiosity, to test his resolution, and like an 
epicure to reserve the best dish till the last. 

He now glanced first at some unimportant letters. 

A dumb negro, who squatted at his feet, burned the 
papyrus-rolls which his master gave him in a brazier. A 
secretary made notes of the short facts. whicn Ani called 
out to him, and the ground work was laid of the answers 
to the different letters. 

At a sign from his master this functionary quitted the 
room, and Ani then slowly opened a letter from the king, 
whose address; “To my brother Ani, showed that it 
contained, not public, but private information. 

On these lines, as he well knew, hung his future life, 
and the road it should follow. 

With a smile, that was meant to conceal even from him- 


112 


UARDA. 


self his deep inward agitation, he broke the wax which 
sealed the short manuscript in the royal hand. 

“What relates to Egypt, and my concern for my 
country, and the happy issue of the war,” wrote the 
Pharaoh, “ I have written to you by the hand of my 
secretary; but these words are for the brother, who desires 
to be my son, and 1 write to him myself. The lordly 
essence of the Divinity which dwells in me, readily brings 
a quick ‘ Yes* or ‘ No' to my lips, and it decides for the 
best. Now you demand my daughter Bent-Anat to wife, 
and I should not be Rameses if I did not freely confess that 
before I had read the last words of your letter, a vehement 
‘ NV rushed to my lips. I caused the stars to be con- 
sulted, and the entrails of the victims to be examined, and 
they were adverse to your request; and yet 1 could not 
refuse you, for you are dear to me, and your blood is royal 
as my own. Even more royal, an old friend said, and 
warned me against your ambition and your exaltation. 
Then my heart changed, for I were not Seti’s son if I 
allow myself to injure a friend through idle apprehensions; 
and he who stands so high that men fear that he may try 
to rise above Rameses, seems to me to be worthy of Bent • 
Anat. Woo her, and, should she consent freely, the mar- 
riage may be celebrated on the day when I return home. You 
are young enough to make a wife happy, and your mature 
wisdom will guard my child from misfortune. Bent-Anat 
shall know that her father, and king, encourages your suit; 
but pray too to the Hathors that they may influence Bent- 
Anat’s heart in your favor, for to her decision we must 
both submit.” 

The regent had changed color several times while read- 
ing this letter. Now he laid it on the table with a shrug 
of his shoulders, stood up, clasped his hands behind him, 
and, with his eyes cast meditatively on the floor, leaned 
against one of the pillars which supported the beams of the 
roof. 

The longer he thought, the less amiable his expression 
became. “ A pill sweetened with honey,* such as they 
give to women,” he muttered to himself. Then he went 


* Two recipes for pills are found in tlie papyri, one with honey 
for women, and one without for men. 


UARDA. 


113 


back to the table, read the king’s letter through once 
more, and said: “ One may learn from it how to deny by 
granting, and at the same time not to forget to give it a 
brilliant show of magnanimity. Kameses knows his 
daughter. She is a girl like any other, and will take good 
care not to choose a man twice as old as herself, and who 
might be her father. Rameses will ‘ submit’ — I am to 
‘ submit!’ And to what? to the judgment and the choice 
of a willful child!” 

With these words he threw the letter so vehemently on 
to the table that it slipped off on to the floor. 

The mute slave picked it up, and laid it carefully on the 
table again, while his master threw a ball into a silver 
basin,' 

Several attendants rushed into the room, and Ani 
ordered them to bring to him the captive dwarf of the 
Ladv Katuti. His soul rose in indignation against the 
king, who in his remote camp-tent could fancy lm had 
made him happy by a proof of his highest favor. 

When we are plotting against a man we are inclined to 
regard him as an enemy, and if he offers us a rose we be- 
lieve it to be for the sake, not of the perfume, but of the, 
thorns. 

The dwarf Nemu was brought before the regent and 
threw himself on the ground at his feet. 

Ani ordered the attendants to leave him, and said to the 
little man: 

“ You compelled me to put you in prison. Stand up!” 

The dwarf rose and said, “ Be thanked — for my arrest 
too.” 

The regent looked at him in astonishment; but Nernu 
went on half humbly, half in fun, “I feared for my life, 
but thou hast not only not shortened it, but hast prolonged 
it; for in the solitude of the dungeon time seemed long, 
and the minutes grown to hours.” 

“ Keep your wit for the ladies,” replied the regent. 
“ Did I not know that you meant well, and acted in ac- 
cordance with the Lady Katuti’s fancy, I would send you 
to the quarries.” 

“ My hands,” mumbled the dwarf, “ could only break 
stones for a game of draughts; but my tongue is like the 
water, which makes one peasant rich, and carries away the 
fields of another,” 


114 


UARDA. 


“We shall know how to dam it up.” 

“ For my lady and for thee it will always flow the right 
way,” said the dwarf. “ I showed the complaining citizens 
who it is that slaughters their flesh and blood, and from 
whom to look for peace and content. I poured caustic 
into their wounds, and praised the physician.” 

“ But unasked and recklessly,” interrupted Ani; “other- 
wise you have shown yourself capable, and I am willing to 
spare you for a future time. But over-busy friends are 
more damaging than intelligent enemies. When I need 
your services I will call for you. Till then avoid speech 
Now go to your mistress, and carry to Katuti this letter 
which has arrived for her.” 

“ Hail to Ani, the son of the Sun!” cried the dwarf, 
kissing the regent's foot. “ Have I no letter to carry to 
my mistress Nefert?” 

“ Greet her from me,” replied the regent. “ Tell 
Katuti I will visit her after the next meal. The king's 
charioteer has not written, yet I hear that he is well. Go 
now, and be silent and discreet.” 

The dwarf quitted the room, and Ani went into an airy 
hall, in which his luxurious meal was laid out, consisting 
of many dishes prepared with special care. His appetite 
was gone, but he tasted of every dish, and gave the stew- 
ard, who attended on him, his opinion of each. 

Meanwhile he thought of the king’s letter, of Bent-Anat, 
and whether it would be advisable to expose himself to a 
rejection on her part. 

After the meal he gave himself up to his body-servant, 
who carefully shaved, painted, dressed, and decorated him, 
and then held the mirror before him. He considered the 
reflection with anxious observation, and when he seated 
himself in his litter to be borne to the house of his friend 
Katuti, he said to himself that he still might claim to be 
called a handsome man. 

If he paid his court to Bent-Anat — if she listened to his 
suit — what then? 

He would refer it to Katuti, who always knew how to 
say a decisive word when he, entangled in a hundred pros 
and cons, feared to venture on a final step. 

By her advice he had sought to wed the princess, as a 
fresh mark of honor — as an addition to his revenues — 


UARDA. 


115 


as a pledge for his personal safety. His heart had never 
been more or less attached to her than to any other beau- 
tiful woman m Egypt. Now her proud and noble person- 
ality stood before his inward eye, and he felt as if he must 
look up to it as to a vision high out of his reach. It vexed 
him that he had followed Katuti's advice, and he began to 
wish his suit had been repulsed. Marriage with Bent- 
Anat seemed to him beset with difficulties. His mood was 
that of a man who craves some brilliant position, though 
he knows that its requirements are beyond his powers — 
that of an ambitious soul to whom kingly honors are 
offered on condition that he will never remove a heavy 
crown from his head. If indeed another plan should suc- 
ceed, if — and his eyes flashed eagerly — if fate set him on 
the seat of Rameses, then the alliance with Bent-Anat 
would lose its terrors; there would he be her absolute king 
and lord and master, and no one could require him to 
account for what he might be to her, or vouchsafe to her. 


CHAPTER X. 

During the events we have described the house of the 
charioteer Mena had not remained free from visitors. 

It resembled the neighboring estate of Paaker, though 
the buildings were less new, the gay paint on the pillars 
and walls was faded, and the large garden lacked careful 
attention. In the vicinity of the house only, a few well- 
kept beds blazed with splendid flowers, and the open colon- 
nade, which was occupied bv Katuti and her daughter, was 
furnished with royal magnificence. 

The elegantly carved seats were made of ivory, the 
tables of ebony, and they, as well as the couches, had gilt 
feet. The artistically worked Syrian drinking vessels on 
the sideboard, tables, and consoles were of many forms; 
beautiful vases full of flowers stood everywhere; rare per- 
fumes rose from alabaster cups, and the foot sank in the 
thick pile of the carpets which covered the floor. 

And over the apparently careless arrangement of these 
various objects there reigned a peculiar charm, an 
indescribably fascinating something. 

Stretched at full length on a couch, and playing with a 


116 


UARDA. 


silky-haired white cat, lay the fair Nefert — fanned to cool- 
ness by a negro girl — while her mother Katuti nodded a 
last farewell to her sister Setchem and to Paaker. 

Both had crossed this threshold for the first time for 
four years; that is, since the marriage of Mena with Aefert, 
and the old enmity seemed now to have given way to heart- 
felt reconciliation and mutual understanding. 

After the pioneer and his mother had disappeared be- 
hind the pomegranate shrubs at the entrance of the garden, 
Katuti turned to her daughter and said: 

“ Who would have thought it yesterday? I believe 
Paaker loves you still.” 

Nefert colored, and exclaimed softly, while she hit the 
kitten gently with her fan: 

“Mother!” 

Katuti smiled. 

She was a tall woman, of noble demeanor, whose sharp 
but delicately-cut features and sparkling eyes could still 
assert some pretensions to feminine beauty. She wore a 
long robe, which reached below her ankles; it was of costly 
material, but dark in color, and of a studied simplicity. 
Instead of the ornaments in bracelets, anklets, ear and 
finger-rings, in necklaces and clasps, which most of the 
Egyptian ladies — and indeed her own sister and daughter — 
were accustomed to wear, she had only fresh flowers, 
which were never wanting in the garden of her son-in-law. 
Only a plain gold diadem, the badge of her royal descent, 
always rested, from early morning till late at night, on her 
high brow — for a woman too high, though nobly formed — 
and confined the long blue-black hair, which fell unbraided 
down her back, as if its owner contemned the vain labor 
of arranging it artistically. But nothing in her exterior 
was unpremeditated, and the unbejeweled wearer of the 
diadem, in her plain dress, and with her royal figure, was 
everywhere sure of being observed, and of finding imitators 
of her dress, and indeed of her demeanor. 

And yet Katuti had long lived in need; ay, at the very 
hour when we first make her acquaintance, she had little 
of her own, but lived on the estate of her son-in-law as 
his guest, and as the administrator of his possessions; and 
before the marriage of her daughter she had lived with 
her children in a house belonging to her sister Setchem, 


t TARDA . 


117 

She had been the wife of her own brother,* who had 
died young, and who had squandered the greatest part of 
the possessions which had been left to him by the new 
royal family, in an extravagant love of display. 

When she became a widow, she was received as a sister, 
with her children, by her brother-in-law, Paaker’s father. 
She lived in a house of her own, enjoyed the income of an 
estate assigned to her by the old Mohar, and left to her 
son-in-law the care of educating her son, a handsome and 
overbearing lad, with all the claims and pretensions of a 
youth of distinction. 

Such great benefits would have oppressed and disgraced 
the proud Katuti, if she had been content with them and 
in every way agreed with the giver. But this was by no 
means the case; rather, she believed that she might pretend 
to a more brilliant outward position, felt herself hurt when 
her heedless son, while he attended school, was warned to 
work more seriously, as he would by and by have to rely 
on his own skill and his own strength. And it had 
wounded her when occasionally her brother-in-law had 
suggested economy, and had reminded her, in his straight- 
forward way, of her narrow means, and the uncertain future 
of her children. 

At this she was deeply offended, for she ventured to 
say that her relatives could never, with all their gifts, 
compensate for the insults they heaped upon her; and thus 
talight them by experience that we quarrel with no one 
more readily than with the benefactor whom we can never 
repay for all the good he bestows on us. 

Nevertheless, when her brother-in-law asked the hand 
of her daughter for his son, she willingly gave her 
consent. 

Nefert and Paaker had grown up together, and by this 
union she foresaw that she could secure her own future and 
that of her children. 

Shortly after the death of the Mohar, the charioteer 

* Marriages between brothers and sisters were allowed in ancient 
Egypt. The Ptolemaic princes adopted this, which was contrary to 
the Macedonian customs. When Ptolemy II Philadelphus married 
his sister Arsinoe, it seems to have been thought necessary to excuse 
it by the relative positions of Venus and Saturn at that period, and 
the constraining influence of these planets. 




118 


UARDA. 


Mena had proposed for Nefert’s hand, but would have 
been refused if the king himself had not supported the 
suit of his favorite officer. After the wedding, she 
retired with Nefert to Mena’s house, and undertook, 
while he was at the war, to manage his great estates, 
which, however, had been greatly burdened with debt by 
his father. 

Fate put the means into her hands of indemnifying herself 
and her children for many past privations, and she availed 
herself of them to gratify her innate desire to be esteemed 
and admired; to obtain admission for her son, splendidly 
equipped, into a company of chariot-warriors of the 
highest class; and to surround her daughter with princely 
magnificence. 

When the regent, who had been a friend of her late 
husband, removed into the palace of the Pharaohs, he 
made her advances, and the clever and decided woman 
knew how to make herself at first agreeable, and finally 
indispensable, to the vacillating man. 

She availed herself of the circumstance that she, as well 
as he, was descended from the old royal house to pique 
his ambition, and to open to him a view, which, even to 
think of, he would have considered forbidden as a crime*, 
before he became intimate with her. 

Ani’s suit for the hand of the Princess Bent-Anat was 
Katuti’s work. She hoped that the Pharaoh would refuse, 
and personally offend the regent, and so make him 
more inclined to tread the dangerous road which she was 
endeavoring to smooth for him. The dwarf Nernu was 
her pliant tool. 

She had not initiated him into her projects by any 
words; he, however, gave utterance to every impulse of 
her mind in free language, which was punished only with 
blows from a fan, and, only the day before, had been so 
audacious as to say that if the Pharaoh were called Ani 
instead of Rameses, Katuti would be not a queen but a 
goddess, for she would then have not to obey, but rather to 
guide, the Pharaoh, who indeed himself was related to the 
immortals. 

Katuti did not observe her daughter’s blush, for she was 
looking anxiously out at the garden gate, and said: 

“ Where can Nemu be! There must be some news ar- 
rived for us from the army.” 


VAUDA. 


119 


“ Mena has not written for so long,” Nefert said, softly. 
“ Ah! here is the steward !” 

Katuti turned to the officer, who had entered the 
veranda through a side door. 

“ What do you bring?” she asked. 

“ The dealer Abscha,” was the answer, “ presses for 
payment. The new Syrian chariot and the purple 
cloth ” " r ^ 

“ Sell some corn,” ordered Katuti. 

‘‘Impossible, for the tribute to the temples is not yet 
paid, and already so much has been delivered to the deal- 
ers that scarcely enough remains over for the maintenance 
of the household and for sowing.” 

“Then pay with beasts.” 

“ But, madam,” said the steward, sorrowfully, “ only 
yesterday we again sold a herd to the Mohar; and the 
water-wheels must be turned, and the corn must be 
thrashed, and we need beasts for sacrifice, and milk, 
butter, and cheese for the use of the house, and dung for 
firing.”* 

Katuti looked thoughtfully at the ground. 

“ It must be,” she said presently. “ Kide to Hermonthis, 
and say to the keeper of the stud that he must have ten 
of Mena’s golden bays driven over here.” 

“I have already spoken to him,” said the steward, “but 
he maintains that Mena strictly forbade him to part with 
even one of the horses, for he is proud of the stock. Only 
for the chariot of the lady Nefert ” 

“ I require obedience,” said Katuti, decidedly, and cut- 
ting short the steward’s words, “and I expect the horses 
to-morrow.” 

“ But the stud-master is a daring man, whom Mena 
looks upon as indispensable, and he ” 

“ I comman/1 here, and not the absent,” cried Katuti, 
enraged, “and I require the horses in spite of the former 
orders of my son-in-law.” 

Nefert, during this conversation, pulled herself up from 
her indolent attitude. On hearing the last words she rose 
from her couch, and said, with a decision which surprised 
even her mother: 


* In Egypt, where there is so little wood, to this day the dried dung 
of beasts is the commonest kind of fuel. 


120 


UABDA. 


“The orders of my husband must be obeyed. The 
horses that Mena loves shall stay in their stalls. Take this 
armlet that the king gave me; it is worth more than twenty 
horses. " 

The steward examined the trinket, richly set with pre- 
cious stones, and looked inquiringly at Katuti. She 
shrugged her shoulders, nodded consent, and said: 

“ Abscha shall hold it as a pledge till Mena's booty 
arrives. For a year your husband has sent nothing of 
importance." 

When the steward was gone, Nefert stretched herself 
again on her couch and said, wearily: 

“ I thought we were rich." 

“We might be," said Katuti, bitterly; but as she per- 
ceived that Kefert’s cheeks again were glowing, she said 
amiably: “Our high rank imposes great duties on us. 
Princely blood flows in our veins, and the eyes of the 
people are turned on the wife of the most brilliant hero in 
the king’s army. Th,ey shall not say that she is neglected 
by her husband. How long Mena remains away!" 

“ I hear a noise in the court,’ 5 said Nefert. “ The re- 
gent is coming." 

Katuti turned again toward the garden. 

A breathless slave rushed in, and announced that Bent- 
Anat, the daughter of the king, had dismounted at the_ 
gate, and was approaching the garden with the Prince 
Earner i. 

Nefert left her couch, and went with her mother to meet 
the exalted visitors. 

As the mother and daughter bowed to kiss the robe of 
the princess, Bent-Anat signed them back from her. 
“ Keep farther from me," she said; “ the-priests have not 
yet entirely absolved me from my uncleanness.’’ 

“And in spite of them thou art clean in the sight of 
Ba!" exclaimed the boy who accompanied her, her brother 
of seventeen, who was brought up at the House of Seti, 
which, however, he was to leave in a few weeks — and he 
kissed her. 

“I shall complain to Ameni of this wild boy," said 
Bent-Anat, smiling. “He would positively accompany 
me. Your husband, Nefert, is his model, and I had no 
peace in the house, for we came to bring you good news." 


UARDA. 


121 


“ From Mena?” asked the young wife, pressing her hand 
to her heart. 

‘•'As you say,” returned Bent-Anat. “My father 
praises his ability, and writes that he, before all others, 
will have his choice at the dividing of the spoil.” 

Nefert threw a triumphant glance at her mother, and 
Katuti drew a deep breath. 

Bent-Anat stroked Nefert’s cheeks like those of a child. 
Then she turned to Katuti, led her into the garden, and 
begged her to aid her, who had so early lost her mother, 
with her advice in a weighty matter. 

“ My father,” she continued, after a few introductory 
words, “ informs me that the Regent Ani desires me for 
his wife, and advises me to reward the fidelity of the 
worthy man with my hand. He advises it, you under- 
stand — he does not command.” 

“And thou?” asked Katuti. 

“And I?” replied Bent-Anat, decidedly, “must refuse 
him.” 

“Thou must!” 

Bent-Anat made a sign of assent and went on. 

“ It is quite clear to me. I can do nothing else.” 

“Then thou dost not need my counsel, since even 
thy father, I well know, will not be able to alter thy 
decision.” 

“No god even could alter this one!” said Bent-Anat, 
firmly. “ But you are Ani’s friend, and, as I esteem him, 
I would save him this humiliation. Endeavor to persuade 
him to give up his suit. I will meet him as though I knew 
nothing of his letter to my father.” 

Katuti looked down reflectively. Then she said: “The 
regent certainly likes very well to pass his hours of 
leisure with me gossiping or playing draughts, but I do 
not know that I should dare to speak to him of so grave a 
matter.” 

“Marriage projects are women’s affairs,” said Bent- 
Anat, smiling. 

“But the marriage of a princess is a state event,” replied 
the widow. “In this case it is true the uncle only courts 
his niece, who is dear to him, and who he hopes will make 
the second half of his life the brightest. Ani is kind and 
without severity. Thou wouldst win in him a husband. 


122 UAUDA. 

who would wait on thy looks, and bow willingly to thy 
strong will." 

Beut-Anat’s eyes flashed, and she hastily exclaimed : 
“That is exactly what forces the decisive irrevocable ‘No ’ 
to my lips. Do you think that because I am as proud as 
my mother, and resolute like my father, that I wish for a 
husband whom I could govern and lead as I would? How 
little you know me! I will be obeyed by my dogs, my 
servants, my officers, if the gods so will it, by my children. 
Abject beings, who will kiss my feet, I meet on every 
road, and can buy by the hundred, if I wish it, in the 
slave market. I may be courted twenty times, and reject 
twenty suitors, but not because I fear that they might 
bend my pride and my will; on the contrary, because I feel 
them increased. The man to whom I could wish to offer 
my hand must be of a loftier stamp, must be greater, 
firmer, and better than I, and I will flutter after the mighty 
wing-strokes of his spirit, and smile at my own weakness, 
and glory in admiring his superiority.” 

Katuti listened to the maiden with the smile by which 
the experienced love to signify their superiority over the 
visionary. 

“Ancient times may have produced such men,” she 
said. “ But if in these days thou thinkest to find one, thou 
wilt wear the lock of youth * till thou art gray. Our 
thinkers are no heroes, and our heroes are no sages. Here 
come thy brother and Nefert.” 

“ Will you persuade Ani to give up his suit?” said the 
princess, urgently. 

“ I will endeavor to do so, for thy sake,” replied Katuti. 
Then, turning half to the young Rameri and half to his 
sister, she said: 

“ The chief of the House of Seti, Ameni, was in his 
youth such a man as thou pain test, Bent-Anat. Tell us, 
thou son of Rameses, that art growing up under the young 
sycamores, which shall some day overshadow the land — 
whom dost thou esteem the highest among thy compan- 
ions ? Is there one among them who is conspicuous 


* Hie lock of youtli was a curl of hair which all the younger 
members of princely families wore at the side of the head. The 
young Horus is represented with it. 


XJAKDA. 


123 


above them all for a lofty spirit and the strength of 
intellect?” 8 

The young Rameri looked gayly at the speaker, and said, 
laughing : “ We are all much alike, and do more or 

less willingly what we are compelled, and by preference 
everything we ought not.” 

“A mighty soul— a youth, who promises to be a second * 
Snefru, a Thotmes, or even an Ameni? Dost thou know 
none such in the House of Seti?” asked the widow. 

“ Oh yes!” cried Rameri, with eager certainty. 

“And he is ?” asked Katuti. 

“ Pentaur, the poet,” exclaimed the youth. Bent-Anat's 
face glowed with scarlet color, while her brother went on 
to explain. 

“He is noble and of a lofty soul, and all the gods dwell 
in him when he speaks. Formerly we used to go to sleep 
in the lecture-hall; but his words carry us away, and if we 
do not take in the full meaning of his thoughts, yet we feel 
that they are genuine and noble.” 

Bent-Anat breathed quicker at these words, her eyes 
hung on the boy's lips. 

“ You know him, Bent-Anat,” continued Rameri. “ He 
was with you at the paraschites' house, and in the temple- 
court when Ameni pronounced you unclean. He is as tall 
and handsome as the God Menth,f and I feel that he is 
one of those whom we can never forget when once we have 
seen them. Yesterday, after you had left the temple, he 
spoke as he never spoke before; he poured fire into our 
souls. Do not laugh, Katuti, I feel it burning still. This 
morning we were informed that he had been sent from the 
temple, who knows where — and had left us a message of 
farewell. It was not thought at all necessary to commu- 
nicate the reason to us; but we know more than the 
masters think. He did not reprove you strongly enough, 
Bent-Anat, and therefore he is driven out of the House of 
Seti. We have agreed to combine to ask for him to be 

*The first king of the fourth dynasty, who to a late date was 
held in high honor, and of whom it is said in several places that 
“the like has not been seen since the days of Snefru.” The monu- 
ments of his time are the earliest which have generally come down 
to us. 

f Menth, the Egyptian God of War. 


124 


UARDA. 


recalled; Anana is drawing up a letter to the chief priest, 
which we shall all subscribe. It would turn out badly for 
one alone, but they cannot be at all of us at once. Very 
likely they will have the sense to recall him. If not, we 
shall all complain to our fathers, and they are not the 
meanest in the land.” 

“ It is a complete rebellion,” cried Katuti. “ Take care, 
you lordlings; Ameni and the other prophets are not to be 
trifled with.” 

“Nor we either,” said Raineri, laughing. “ If Pentaur 
is kept in banishment, I shall appeal to my father to place 
me at the school at Heliopolis or Chennu, and the others 
will follow me. Come, Bent-Anat, I must be back in the 
trap before sunset. Excuse me, Katuti, so we call the 
school. Here comes your little Nemu.” 

The brother .and sister left the garden. 

As soon as the ladies, who accompanied thepi, had 
turned their backs, Bent-Anat grasped her brother’s hand 
with unaccustomed warmth, and said: 

“Avoid all imprudence; but your demand is just, and I 
will help you with all my heart.” 


CHAPTER XI. 

As soon as Bent-Anat had quitted Mena’s domain, the 
dwarf Nemu entered the garden with a letter, and briefly 
related his adventures; but in such a comical fashion that 
both the ladies laughed, and Katuti, with a lively gayety, 
which was usually foreign to her, while she warned him, at 
the same time praised his acuteness. She looked at the 
seal of the letter, and said: 

“This is a lucky day; it has brought us great things, 
and the promise of greater things in the future.” 

Nefert came close up to her and said imploringly: 
“ Open the letter, and see if there is nothing in it from 
him.” 

Katuti unfastened the wax, looked through the letter 
with a hasty glance, stroked the cheek of her child, and 
said : 

“Perhaps your brother has written for him; I see no 
line in his handwriting.” 


UARDA. 


125 


Nefert on her side glanced at; the letter, but not to read 
it, only to seek some trace of the well-known handwriting 
of her husband. 

Like all the Egyptian women of good family she could 
read, and during the first two years of her married life she 
had often — very often — had the opportunity of puzzling, 
and yet rejoicing, over the feeble signs which the iron 
hand of the charioteer had scrawled on the papyrus for 
her whose slender fingers could guide the reed-pen with 
firmness and decision. 

She examined the letter, and at last said, with tears in 
her eyes: 

“ Nothing! I will go to my room, mother.” 

Katuti kissed her and said: “Hear first what your 
brother writes.” 

But Nefert shook her head, turned away in silence, and 
disappeared into the house. 

Katuti was not very friendly to her son-in-law, but her 
heart clung to her handsome, reckless son, the very image 
of her lost husband, the favorite of women, and the gayest 
youth among the young nobles who composed the chariot- 
guard of the king. 

How fully he had written to-day — he who wielded the 
reed-pen so laboriously. 

This really was a letter; while, usually, he only asked 
in the fewest words for fresh funds for the gratification of 
his extravagant tastes. 

This time she might look for thanks, for not long since 
he must have received a considerable supply, which she 
had abstracted from the income of the possessions en- 
trusted to her by her son-in-law. 

She began to read. 

The cheerfulness with which she had met the dwarf was 
insincere, and had resembled the brilliant colors of the rain- 
bow, which gleam over the stagnant waters of a bog. A 
stone falls into the pool, the colors vanish, dim mists rise 
up, and it becomes foul and cloudy. 

The news which her son’s letter contained fell, indeed, 
like a block of stone on Katuti’s soul. 

Our deepest sorrows always flow from the same source as 
might have filled us with joy, and those wounds burn the 
fiercest which are inflicted by a hand we love. 


VARDA. 


12 $ 

The further Katuti went in the lamentably incorrect 
epistle — which she could only decipher with difficulty 
which her darling had written to her, the paler grew her 
face, which she several times covered with the trembling 
hands, from which the letter dropped. 

Nemu squatted on the earth near her, and followed all 
her movements. 

When she sprang forward with a heart-piercing scream, 
and pressed her forehead to a rough, palm-trunk, he 
crept up to her, kissed her feet, and exclaimed, with a 
depth of feeling that overcame even Katuti, who was ac- 
customed to hear only gay or bitter speeches from the lips 
of her jester: 

“Mistress! lady! what has happened?” 

Katuti collected herself, turned to him, and tried to 
speak; but her pale lips remained closed, and her eyes 
gazed dimly into vacancy as though a catalepsy had seized 
her. 

“Mistress! Mistress!” cried the dwarf again, with grow- 
ing agitation. “What is the matter? shall I call thy 
daughter?” 

Katuti made a sign with her hand, and cried feebly: 
“The wretches! the reprobates!” 

Her breath began to come quickly, the blood mounted 
to her cheeks and her flashing eyes; she trod upon the 
letter, and wept so loud and passionately that the dwarf, 
who had never before seen tears in her eyes, raised himself 
timidly, and said in mild reproach: “Katuti!” 

She laughed bitterly, and said with a trembling voice: 

“ Why do you call my name so loud! it is disgraced and 
degraded. How the nobles and the ladies- will rejoice! 
Now envy can point at us with spiteful joy — and a minute 
ago I was praising this day! They say one should exhibit 
one’s happiness in the streets, and conceal one’s misery; 
on the contrary, on the contrary! Even the gods - should 
not know of one’s hopes and joys, for they too are envious 
and spiteful!” 

Again she leaned her head against the palm-tree. 

“ Thou speakest of shame, and not of death,” said 
Nemu, “ and I learned from thee that one should give noth- 
ing up for lost excepting the dead.” 

These words had a powerful effect on the agitated 


UARDA. 127 

woman. Quickly and vehemently she turned upon the 
dwarf, saying: 

“ You are clever, and faithful too, so listen! but if you 
were Amon himself there is nothing to be done ” 

“ We must try,” said Nemu, and his sharp eyes met 
those of his mistress. 

“ Speak,” he said, “ and trust me. Perhaps I can be of 
no use; but that I can be silent thou knowest.” 

“ Before long the children in the streets will talk of 
what this tells me,” said Katuti, laughing with bitterness, 
“ only Nefert must know nothing of what has happened — 
nothing, mind; what is that? the regent coming! quick, 
fly; tell him I am suddenly taken ill, very ill; I cannot 
see him, not now! No one is to be admitted — no one, do 
you hear?” 

The dwarf went. 

When he came back after he had fulfilled his errand, he 
found his mistress still in a fever of excitement. 

“ Listen,” she said; “ first the smaller matter, then the 
frightful, the unspeakable. Rameses loads Mena with 
marks of his favor. It came to a division of the spoils of 
war for the year; a great heap of treasure lay ready for 
each of his followers, and the charioteer had to choose be- 
fore all the others.” 

“Well?” said the dwarf. 

“Well!” echoed Katuti. “Well! how did the worthy 
householder care for his belongings at home, how did he 
seek -to relieve his indebted estate? It is disgraceful, hid- 
eous ! He passed by the silver, the gold, the jewels, with 
a laugh; and took the captive daughter of the Danaid 
princes, and led her into his tent.” 

“ Shameful!” muttered the dwarf. 

“Poor, poor Nefert!” cried Katuti, covering her face 
with her hands. 

“And what more?” asked Nemu, hastily. 

“That,” said Katuti, “that is — but I will keep calm — 
quite calm and quiet. You know my son. He is heed- 
less,’ but he loves me and his sister more than anything in 
the world. I, fool as I was, to persuade him to economy, 
had vividly described our evil plight, and after that dis- 
graceful conduct of Mena he thought of us and of our 
anxieties. His share of the booty was small, and could not 


UARDA. 


128 

help ns. His comrades threw dice for the shares they had 
obtained— he staked his to win more for ns. He lost— all 
— a ll — ail d at last against an enormous sum, still thinking 
of ns, and only of ns, he staked the mummy of his dead 
father.* He lost. If he does not redeem the pledge be- 
fore the expiration of the third month, he will fall into 
infamy, f the mummy will belong to the winner, and dis- 
grace and ignominy will be my lot and his.” 

Katnti pressed her hands on her face, the dwarf mut- 
tered to himself, “The gambler and hypocrite!” 

When his mistress had grown calmer, he said: 

“It is horrible, yet all is not lost. How much is the 
debt?” 

It sounded like a heavy curse, when Katuti replied, 
“Thirty Babylonian talents!”]; 

The dwarf cried out, as if an asp had stung him: “ Who 
dared to bid against such a mad stake?” 

“ The Lady Hathor’s son, Antef,” answered Katuti, 
“who has already gambled away the inheritance of his 
fathers in Thebes.” 

“ He will not remit one grain of wheat of his claim,” 
cried the dwarf. “ And Mena?” 

“How could my son turn to him after what had hap- 
pened? The poor child implores me to ask the assistance 
of the regent.” 

“ Of the regent?” said the dwarf, shaking his big head. 
“ Impossible?” 

“I know, as matters now stand; but his place, his 
name.” 

“ Mistress,” said the dwarf, and deep purpose rang in 
the words, “ do not spoil the future for the sake of the 
present. If thy son loses his honor under King Rameses, 
the future King, Ani, may restore it to him. If the 

* It was a king of the fourth dynasty, named Asychis by 
Herodotus, who, it is admitted, was the first to pledge the mummies 
of his ancestors. “ He who stakes this pledge and fails to redeem 
the debt shall, after his death, rest neither in his father’s tomb nor 
in any other, and sepulture shall be denied to his descendants.” 
Herod, ii, 136. 

f This it would appear was the heaviest punishment which could 
fall on an Egyptian soldier. Diod. i, 78. 

t £ 6,750 sterling. 


UARDA . 


129 


regent now renders you all an important service, he will 
regard you as amply paid when our efforts have succeeded, 
and he sits on the throne. He lets himself be led by thee 
now because thou hast no need of his help, and dost seem 
to work only for his sake, and for his elevation. As soon 
as thou hast appealed to him, and he has assisted thee, all 
thy confidence and freedom will be gone, and the more 
difficult he finds it to raise so large a sum of money at 
once, the angrier he will be to think that thou art making 
use of him. Thou knowest his circumstances.” 

“ He is in debt,” said Katuti. “ I know that.” 

‘‘Thou shouldst know it,” cried the dwarf, “for thou 
thyself hast forced him to enormous expenses. He has 
won the people of Thebes with dazzling festive displays; 
as guardian of Apis* he gave a large donation to Memphis; 
he bestowed thousands on the leaders of the troops sent 
into Ethiopia, which were equipped by him; what his spies 
cost him at the camp of the king thou knowest. He has 
borrowed sums of money from most of the rich men in 
the country, and that is well, for so many creditors are so 
many allies. The regent is a bad debtor; but the King 
Ani, they reckon, will be a grateful payer.” 

Katuti looked at the dwarf in astonishment. 

“ You know men!” she said. 

“To my sorrow!” replied Nemu. “ Do not apply to the 
regent, and before thou dost sacrifice the labor of years, 
and thy future greatness, and that of those near to thee, 
sacrifice thy son’s honor.” 

“ And my husband’s and my own?” exclaimed Katuti. 
“How can you know what that is! Honor is a word that 
the slave may utter, but whose meaning he canmever com- 
prehend; you rub the weals that are raised on you by blows; 
to me every finger pointed at me in scorn makes a wound 
like an ashwood lance with a poisoned tip of brass. Oh ye 
holy gods! who can help us?” 

The miserable woman pressed her hands over her eyes, 
as if to shut out the sight of her own disgrace. 

* When Apis (the sacred bull) died under Ptolemy I Soter, his 
keepers spent not only the money which they had received for his 
maintenance, in his obsequies, but borrowed fifty talents of silver 
(;£1 1,250) from the king. In the time of Diodorus one hundred talents 
were spent for the same purpose. 


130 


UARDA. 


The dwarf looked up at her compassionately, and said, 
in a changed tone: 

“ Dost thou remember the diamond which fell out of 
Nefert’s handsomest ring? We hunted for it, and could 
not find it. Next day, as I was going through the room, 
I trod on something hard; I stooped down and found the 
stone. What the noble organ of sight, the eye, overlooked, 
the callous despised sole of the foot found; and perhaps 
the small slave, Nemu, who knows nothing of honor, may 
succeed in finding a mode of escape which is not revealed 
to the lofty soul of his mistress!” 

“ What are you thinking of?” asked Katuti. 

“ Escape,” answered the dwarf. “Is it true that thy 
sister Setchem has visited thee, and that vou are recon- 
ciled?” 

“ She*offered me her hand, and I took it!” 

“ Then go to her. Men are never more helpful than 
after a reconciliation. The enmity they have driven out, 
seems to leave, as it were, a freshly-healed wound which 
must be touched with caution; and Setchem is of thy own 
blood, and kind-hearted.” 

“ She is not rich,” replied Katuti. “ Every palm in 
her garden comes from her husband, and belongs to her 
children.” 

“ Paaker, too, was with you?” 

“ Certainly only by the entreaty of his mother — he hates 
my son-in-law.” 

“ I know it,” muttered the dwarf, “but if Nefert would 
ask him?” 

The widow drew herself up indignantly. She felt that 
she had allowed the dwarf too much freedom, and ordered 
him to leave her alone. 

Nemu kissed her robe and asked, timidly: 

“ Shall I forget that thou hast trusted me, or am I per- 
mitted to consider further as to thy son’s safety?” 

Katuti stood for a moment undecided, then she said: 

“You were clever enough to find what I carelessly 
dropped; perhaps some god may show you what I ought 
to do. Now 1 leave me.” 

“ Wilt thou want me early to-morrow?” 

“No.” 

“Then I will go to the Necropolis, and offer a 
sacrifice.” 


UARDA . 131 

“ Go!” said Katuti, and went toward the house with the 
fatal letter in her hand. 

Nemu stayed behind alone; he looked thoughtfully at 
the ground, murmuring to himself. 

“ She must not lose her honor; not at present, or indeed 
all will be lost. What is this honor? We all come into 
the world without it, and most of us go to the grave with- 
out knowing it, and very good folks notwithstanding. 
Only a few who are rich and idle weave it in with the 
homely stuff of their souls, as the Kuschites* do their 
hair with grease and oils, till it forms a cap of which, 
though it disfigures them, they are so proud that they 
would rather have their ears cut off than the monstrous 
thing. I see, I see — but -before I open my mouth I 
will go to my mother. She knows more than twenty 
prophets.” 


CHAPTER XII. 

Before the sun had risen the next morning, Nemu got 
himself ferried over the Nile, with the small white ass 
which Mena’s deceased father had given him many years 
before. He availed himself of the cool hour which pre- 
cedes the rising of the sun for his ride through the 
Necropolis. 

Well acquainted as he was with every stock and stone, 
he avoided the high roads which led to the goal of his ex- 
pedition, and trotted toward the hill which divides the 
valley of the royal tombs from the plain of the Nile. 

Before him opened a noble amphitheater of lofty lime- 
stone peaks, the background of the stately terrace-temple 
which the proud ancestress of two kings of the fallen 
family, the great Hatasu, had erected to their memory, 
and to the Goddess Hathor. 

Nemu left the sanctuary to his left, and rode up the 
steep hill-path which was the nearest way from the plain 
to the valley of the tombs. 

Below him lay a bird’s-eye view of the terrace-building 

* The monuments show us that the ancient negroes of the upper 
Nile were devoted to these repulsive fashion's, as their modern 
descendants are. 


132 


TJARDA. 


of Hatasu, and before him, still slumbering in cool dawn, 
was the Necropolis with its houses and temples and colos- 
sal statues, the broad Nile glistening with white sails under 
the morning mist; and, in the distant east, rosy with the 
coming sun, stood Thebes and her gigantic temples. 

But the dwarf saw nothing of the glorious panorama that 
lay at his feet; absorbed in thought, ~ and stooping over the 
neck of his ass, he let the panting beast climb and rest at 
its pleasure. 

When he had reached half the height of the hill, he per- 
ceived the sound of footsteps coming nearer and nearer to 
him. 

The vigorous walker had soon reached him, and bid him 
good-morning, which he civilly returned. 

The hill-path was narrow, and when Nemu observed 
that the man who followed him was a priest, he drew up 
his donkey on a level spot, and said, reverently: 

“Pass on, holy father,; for thy two feet carry thee 
quicker than my four.” 

“A sufferer needs my help,” replied the leech Neb- 
secht, Pentaur’s friend, whom we have already seen in the 
House of Seti, and by the bed of the paraschites’ daughter; 
and he hastened on so as to gain on the slow pace of the 
rider. 

Then rose the glowing disk of the sun above the eastern 
horizon, and from the sanctuaries below the travelers rose 
up the pious many-voiced chant of praise. 

Nemu slipped off his ass, and assumed an attitude 
of prayer; the priest did the same; but while the dwarf 
devoutly fixed his eyes on the new birth of the Sun-god 
from the eastern range, the priest’s eyes wandered to the 
earth, and his raised hand fell to pick up a rare fossil shell 
which lay on the path. 

In a few minutes Nebsecht rose, and Nemu followed 
him. 

“It is a fine morning,” said the dwarf; “the holy 
fathers down there seein more cheerful to-day than 
usual.” 

The surgeon laughed assent. “ Do you belong to the 
Necropolis?” he said. “ Who here keeps dwarfs?” 

“ No one,” answered the little man. “But I will ask 
thee a question. Who that lives here behind the hill is of 


UARDA. 133 

so much importance that a leech from the House of Seti 
sacrifices his night's rest for him?” 

“ The one I visit is mean, but the suffering is great,” 
answered Nebsecht. 

Nemu looked at him with admiration, and muttered, 

“ That is noble, that is ” but he did not finish his 

speech; he struck his brow and exclaimed, “ You are going, 
by the desire of the Princess Bent-Anat, to the child of the 
paraschites that was run over. I guessed as much. The 
food must have an excellent after-taste, if a gentleman rises 
so early to eat it. How is the poor child doing?” 

There was so much warmth in these last words that Neb- 
secht, who had thought the dwarf's reproach uncalled for, 
answered in a friendly tone: 

“Not so badly; she may be saved.” 

“The gods be praised!” exclaimed Nemu, while the 
priest passed on. 

Nebsecht went up and down the hill-side at a redoubled 
pace, and had long taken his place by the couch of 
the wounded Uarda in the hovel of the paraschites, when 
Nemu drew near to the abode of his Mother Hekt, from 
whom Paaker had received the philter. 

The old woman sat before the door of her cave. 

Near her lay a board, fitted with cross-pieces, between 
which a little boy was stretched in such a way that they 
touched his head and his feet. 

Hekt understood the art of making dwarfs; playthings in 
human form were well paid for, and the child on the rack 
with his pretty little face, promised to be a valuable 
article. 

As soon as the sorceress saw some one approaching, she 
stooped over the child, took him up, board and all, in her 
arms, and carried him into the cave. Then she said, 
sternly: 

“ If you move, little one, I will flog you. Now let me 
tie you.” 

“ Don't tie me,” said the child, “I will be good and lie 
still.” 

“ Stretch yourself out,” ordered the old woman, and 
tied the child with a rope to the board. “ If you are quiet, 
I'll give you a honey-cake by-and-by, and let you play with 
the young chickens.” 


134 


HARD A. 


The child was quiet, and a soft smile of delight and 
hope sparkled in his pretty eyes. His little hand caught 
the dress of the old woman, and with the sweetest coax- 
ing tone, which, God bestows on the innocent voices of 
children, he said: 

“I will be as still as a mouse, and no one shall know 
that I am here; but if you give me the honey-cake you 
will untie me for a little, and let me go to Uarda.” 

“She is ill — what do you want there?” 

“ I would take her the cake,” said the child, and his 
eyes glistened with tears. 

The old woman touched the child’s chin with her finger, 
and some mysterious power prompted her to bend over 
him to kiss him. But before her lips had touched his face 
she turned away, and said, in a hard tone: 

“Lie still! by-and-by we will see.” Then she stooped, 
and threw a brown sack over the child. She went back 
into the open air, greeted Nemu, entertained him with 
milk, bread and honey, gave him news of the girl who had 
been run over, for he seemed to take her misfortune very 
much to heart, and finally asked: 

“What brings you here? The Nile was still narrow 
when you last found your way to me, and now it has been 
falling some time.* Are you sent by your mistress, or do 
you want my help? All the world is alike. No one goes 
to see any one else unless he wants to make use of him. 
What shall I give you?” 

“ I want nothing,” said the dwarf, “ but ” 

“You are commissioned by a third person,” said the 
witch, laughing. “ It is the same thing. Whoever wants 
a thing for some one else only thinks of his own interest.” 

“ May be,” said Nemu. “At any rate your words show 
that you have not grown unwiser since I saw you last — 
and I am glad of it, for I want your advice.” 


* This is in the beginning of November. The Nile begins slowly 
to rise early in June; between the fifteenth and twentieth of July it 
suddenly swells rapidly, and in the first half of October, not, as was 
formerly supposed, at the end of September, the inundation reaches 
its highest level. Heinrich Barth established these data beyond dis- 
pute. After the water has begun to sink it rises once more in October 
and to a higher level than before. Then it soon falls, at first slowly, 
but by degrees quicker and quicker. 


UAIIDA. 


135 


“ Advice is cheap. What is going on out there ?” 
Nemu related to his mother shortly, clearly, and without 
reserve, what was plotting in his mistress’ house, and the 
frightful disgrace with which she was threatened through 
her son. 

The old woman shook her gray head thoughtfully sev- 
eral times; hut she let the little man go on to the end of 
his story without interrupting him. Then she asked, and 
her eyes flashed as she spoke: 

“ And you really believe that you will succeed in put- 
ting the sparrow on the eagle’s perch — Ani on the throne 
of Rameses?” 

“ The troops fighting in Ethiopia are for us,” cried 
Nemu. “ The priests declare themselves against the king, 
and recognize in Ani the genuine blood of Ra.” 

“ That is much,” said the old woman. 

“ And many dogs are the death of the gazelle,” said 
Nemu, laughing. 

“ But Rameses is not a gazelle to run, but a lion,” 
said the old woman, gravely. “ You are playing a high 
game.” * 

“We know it,” answered Nemu. “'But it is for high 
stakes — there is much to win.” 

“ And all to lose,” muttered the old woman, passing 
her fingers round her scraggy neck. “Well, do as you 
please — it is all the same to me who it is sends the young 
to be killed, and drives the old folks’ cattle from the field. 
What do they want with me?” 

“No one has sent me,” answered the dwarf. “ I come of 
my own free fancy to ask you what Katuti must do to save 
her son and her house from dishonor.” 

“Hm!” hummed the witch, looking at Nemu while 
she raised herself on her stick. “ What has come to you 
that you take the fate of these great people to heart as if 
it were your own?” 

The dwarf reddened, and answered, hesitatingly : 
“Katuti is a good mistress, and, if things go well with 
her, there may be windfalls for you and me.” 

Iiekt shook her head doubtfully. 

“ A loaf for you, perhaps, and a crumb for me!” she 
said. “ There is more than that in your mind, and I can 
read your heart as if you were a ripped-up raven. You 


136 


VARDA. 


are one of those who can never keep their fingers at rest, 
and must knead everybody’s dough; must push, and drive 
and stir something. Every jacket is too tight for you. 
If you were three feet taller, and the son of a priest, you 
might have gone far. High you will go, and high you 
will end; as the friend of a king — or on the gallows.” 

The old woman laughed ; but Nemu bit his lips, and 
said : 

“ If you had sent me to school, and if I were not the son 
of a witch, and a dwarf, I would play with men as they 
played with me; for I am cleverer than all of them, and 
none of their plans are hidden from me. A hundred 
roads lie before me, when they don’t know whether to go 
out or in; and where they rush heedlessly forward I see 
the abyss that they are running to.” 

“And nevertheless you come to me?” said the old 
woman sarcastically. 

“I want your advice,” said Nemn, seriously. “Four 
eyes see more than one, and the impartial looker-on sees 
clearer than the player ; besides you are bound to help 
me.” 

The old woman laughed loud in astonishment. “Bound!” 
she said, “I? and to what, if you please?” 

“ To help me,” replied the dwarf, half in entreat}', and 
half in reproach. “ You deprived me of my growth, and 
reduced me to a cripple.” 

“Because no one is better off than you dwarfs,” inter- 
rupted the witch. 

Eemu shook his head, and answered sadly: 

“ You have often said so — and perhaps for many others, 
who are born in misery like me — perhaps — you are right; 
but for me — you have spoiled my life; you have crippled 
not my body only but my soul, and have condemned me to 
sufferings that are nameless and unutterable.” 

The dwarf’s big head sank on his breast, and with his 
left hand he pressed his heart. 

The old woman went up to him kindly. 

“What ails you?” she asked. “I thought it was well 
with you in Mena’s house.” 

“You thought so?” cried the dwarf. “You who show 
me as in a mirror what I am, and how mysterious powers 
throng and stir in me? You made me what I am by your 


UARDA. 


137 


arts ; you sold me to the treasurer of Rameses, and he 
gave me to the father of Mena, his brother-in-law. Fifteen 
year ago! I was a young man then, a youth like any 
other, only more passionate, more restless and fiery than 
they. I was given as a plaything to the young Mena, and 
he harnessed me to his little chariot, and dressed me out 
with ribbons and feathers, and flogged me when I did not 
go fast enough. How the girl — -for whom I would have 
given my life — the porter’s daughter, laughed when I, 
dressed up in motley, hopped panting in front of the 
chariot, and the young lord’s whip whistled in my ears, 
wringing the sweat from my brow, and the blood from my 
broken heart. Then Mena’s father died, the boy went 
to school, and I waited on the wife of his steward, whom 
Katuti banished to Hermonthis. That was a time! The 
little daughter of the house made a doll of me, laid me in 
the cradle, and made me shut my eyes and pretend to sleep, 
while love and hatred, and great projects were strong 
within me. If I tried to resist they beat me with rods; 
and when once, in a rage, I forgot myself, and hit little 
Mertitefs hard, Mena, who came in, hung me up in the 
store-room to a nail by my girdle, and left me to swing 
there; he said he had forgotten to take me down again. 
The rats fell upon me; here are the scars, these little white 
spots here — look! They perhaps will some day wear out, 
but the wounds that my spirit received in those hours have 
not yet ceased to bleed. Then Mena married FTefert, 
and, with her, his mother-in-law Katuti came into the 
house. She took me from the steward, I became indispen- 
sable to her; she treats me like a man, she values my intelli- 
gence and listens to my advice — therefore I will make her 
great, and with her, and through her, I will wax mighty. 
If Ani mounts the throne, we will guide him — you, and 
I, and she! Rameses, must fall, and with him Mena, the 
boy who degraded my body and poisoned my soul!” 

During this speech the old woman had stood in silence 
opposite the dwarf. Now she sat down on her rough 
wooden seat, and said, while she proceeded to pluck a 
lapwing: 

“ Now I understand you ; you wish to be revenged. 
You hope to rise high, and I am to whet your knife, and 
hold the ladder for you. Poor little man! there, sit 


138 


VARDA. 


down — drink a gulp of milk to cool you, and listen to my 
advice. Katuti wants a great deal of money to escape 
dishonor. She need only pick it up — it lies at her door." 

The dwarf looked at the witch in astonishment. 

“ The Mohar Paaker in her sister Setchem’s son. Is he 
not?" 

“ As you say." 

“ Katuti's daughter Nefert is the wife of your master 
Mena, and another would like to tempt the neglected little 
hen into his yard." 

“ You mean Paaker, to whom Nefert was promised 
before she went after Mena." 

“ Paaker was with me the day before yesterday." 

“ With you?" 

“ Yes, with me, with old Ilekt — to buy a love-philter. 
I gave him one, and as I was curious I went after him, saw 
him give the water to the little lady, and found out her 
name." 

“ And Nefert drank the magic drink?" asked the dwarf, 
horrified. 

“ Vinegar and turnip juice," laughed the old witch. “ A 
lord who comes to me to win • a wife is ripe for anything. 
Let Nefert ask Paaker for the money, and the young 
scapegrace's debts are paid." 

“ Katuti is proud, and repulsed me severely when I pro- 
posed this." 

“ Then she must sue to Paaker herself for the money. 
Go back to him, make him hope that Nefert is inclined to 
him, tell him what distresses the ladies, and if he refuses, 
but only if he refuses, let him see that you know something 
of the little dose." 

The dwarf looked meditatively on the ground, and then 
said, looking admiringly at the old woman, “ That is the 
right thing." 

“You will find out the lie without my telling you," 
mumbled the witch; “your business is not perhaps such a 
bad one as it seemed to me at first. Katuti may thank the 
ne'er do well who staked his father's corpse. You don't 
understand me? Well, if you are really the sharpest of 
them all over there, what must the others be?" 

“ You mean that people will speak well of my mistress 
for sacrificing so large a sum for the sake " 


UARDA . 


139 


t( Whose sake? why speak well of her?” cried the old 
woman, impatiently. “ Here we deal with other things, 
with actual facts. There stands Paaker — there the wife of 
Mena. If the Mohar sacrifices a fortune for Nefert, he 
will be her master, and Katuti will not stand in his way; 
she knows well enough why her nephew pays for her. But 
some one else stops the way, and that is Mena. It is worth 
while to get him out of the way. The charioteer stands 
close to the Pharaoh, and the noose that is flung at one 
may easily fall round the neck of the other too. Make the 
Mohar your ally, and it may easily happen that your rat- 
bites niay be paid for with mortal wounds, and Rameses 
who, if you marched against him openly, might blow you 
to the ground, may be hit by a lance thrown from an am- 
bush. When the throne is clear, the weak legs of the 
regent may succeed in clambering up to it with the help of 
the priests. Here you sit — open-mouthed; and I have told 
you nothing that you might not have found out for 
yourself. ” 

“You are a perfect cask of wisdom!” exclaimed the 
dwarf. 

“And now you will go away,” said Hekt, “ and reveal 
your schemes to your mistress and the regent, and they 
will be astonished at your cleverness. To-day you still 
know that I have shown you what you have to do; to-mor- 
row you will have forgotten it; and the day after to-mor- 
row you will believe yourself possessed by the inspiration 
of the nine great gods. I know that; but I cannot give 
anything for nothing. You live by your smallness, another 
makes his living with his hard hands, I earn my scanty 
bread by the thoughts of my brain. Listen! when you 
have half won Paaker, and Ani shows himself inclined to 
make use of him, then say to him that I may know a 
secret — and I do know one, I alone — which may make the 
Mohar the sport of his wishes, and that I may be disposed 
to sell it.” 

“ That shall be done! certainly, mother,” cried the dwarf. 
“ What do you wish for?” 

“ Very little,” said the old woman. “ Only a permit 
that makes me free to do and to practice whatever I please, 
unmolested even by the priests, and to receive an honor- 
able burial after my death.” 


140 


UARDA. 


“ The regent will hardly agree to that; for he must 
avoid everything that may offend the servants of the 
gods.” 

“And do everything,” retorted the old woman, “ that 
can degrade Rameses in their sight. Ani, do you hear, 
need not write me a new license, but only renew the old 
one granted to me by Rameses when I cured his favorite 
horse. They burnt it with my other possessions, when 
they plundered my house, and denounced me and my be- 
longings for sorcery. The permit of Rameses is what I 
want, nothing more.” 

“You shall have it,” said the dwarf. “Good-by; I am 
charged to look into the tomb of our house, and see 
whether the offerings for the dead are regularly set out; to 
pour out fresh essences and have various things renewed. 
When Sechet has ceased to rage, and it is cooler, I shall 
come by here again, for I should like to call on the paras- 
chites, and see how the poor child is.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

During this conversation two men had been busily 
occupied, in front of the paraschites’ hut, in driving piles 
into the earth, and stretching a torn linen cloth upon 
them. 

One of them, old Pinem, whom we have seen tending 
his grandchild, requested the other from time to time 
to consider the sick girl and to work less noisily. 

After they had finished their simple task, and spread a 
couch of fresh straw under the awning, they too sat down 
on the earth, and looked at the hut before which the sur- 
geon Nebsecht was sitting waiting till the sleeping girl 
should wake. 

“ Who is that?” asked the leech of the old man, point- 
ing to his young companion, a tall sunburnt soldier, with a 
bushy red beard. 

“My son,” replied the paraschites, “who is just re- 
turned from Syria.” 

“Uarda’s father?” asked Nebsecht. 

The soldier nodded assent, and said with a rough voice 
but not without cordiality: 


UARDA. 


141 


“No one could guess it by looking at us— she is so 
white and rosy. Her mother was a foreigner, and she has 
turned out as delicate as she was. I am afraid to touch 
her with my little finger — and there comes a chariot over 
the brittle doll, and does not quite crush her, for she is 
still alive.” 

“ Without the help of this holy father,” said the paras- 
chites, approaching the surgeon, and kissing his robe, 
“ you would never have seen her alive again. May the 
gods reward thee for what thou hast done for us poor 
folks!” 

“ And we can pay too,” cried the soldier, slapping a 
full purse that hung at his girdle. “We have taken 
plunder in Syria, and I will buy a calf, and give it to thy 
temple.” 

“ Offer a beast of dough, rather,” replied Nebsecht, 
“and if you wish to show yourself grateful to me, give 
the money to your father, so that he may feed and nurse 
your child in accordance with my instructions.” 

“Hm,” murmured the soldier; he took the purse from 
his girdle, flourished it in his hand, and said, as he handed 
it to the paraschites: 

“I should have liked to drink it! but take it, father, 
for the child and my mother.” 

While the old man hesitatingly put out his hand for the 
rich gift, the soldier recollected himself and said, opening 
the purse: 

“ Let me take out a few rings, for to-day I cannot go 
dry. I have two or three comrades lodging in the Red 
Tavern. That is right. There — take the rest of the 
rubbish.” 

Nebsecht nodded approvingly at the soldier, and he, as 
his father gratefully kissed the surgeon’s hand, exclaimed: 

“Make the little one sound, holy father! It is all over 
with gifts and offerings, for I have nothing left; but there 
are two iron fists and a breast like the wall of a fortress. 
If at any time thou dost want help, call me, and I will 
protect thee against twenty enemies. Thou hast saved 
my child — good. Life for life. I sign myself thy blood- 
ally — there.” 

With these words he drew his poniard out of his girdle. 
He scratched his arm, and let a few drops of his blood 


142 


UARDA. 


run down on a stone at the feet of Nebsecht — “ Look, ’ 
he said. “ There is my bond, Kaschta has signed him- 
self thine, and thou canst dispose of my life as of thine 
own. What I have said, I have said.” 

“ I am a man of -peace,” Nebsecht stammered. “ And 
my white robe protects me. But I believe our patient is 
awake.” 

The physician rose, and entered the hut. 

Uarda’s" pretty head lay on her grandmother’s lap, and 
her large blue eyes turned contentedly on the priest. 

“She might get up and go out in the air,” said the oil 
woman. “She has slept long and soundly.” 

The surgeon examined her pulse, and her wound, on 
which green leaves were laid. 

“Excellent,” he said; “who gave you this healing 
herb ?” 

The old woman shuddered, and hesitated; but TJarda 
said, fearlessly: “Old Hekt, who lives over there in the 
b'aek cave.” 

“The witch!” muttered Nebsecht. “But we will let 
the leaves remain; if they do good it is no matter where 
they came from.” 

“Hekt tasted the drops thou didst give her,” said the 
old woman, “and agreed that they were good.” 

“ Then we are satisfied with each other,” answered 
Nebsecht, with a smile of amusement. “ We will carry 
you now into the open air, little maid; for the air in here 
is as heavy as lead, and your damaged lung requires lighter 
nourishment.” 

“Yes, let me go out,” said the girl. “It is well that 
thou hast not brought back the other with thee, who tor- 
mented me with his vows.” 

“'You mean blind Teta,” said Nebsecht; “he will not 
come again; but the young priest who soothed your father, 
when he repulsed the princess, will visit you. He is 
kindly disposed, and you should — you should ” 

“Pentaur will come?” said the girl, eagerly. 

“ Before midday. But how do you know his name?” 

“I know him,” said Uarda, decidedly. 

The surgeon looked at her surprised. 

“ You must not talk any more,” he said, for your cheeks 
are glowing, and the fever may return. We have arranged 


UARDA. 


143 


a tent for you, and now we will carry you into the open 
air." 

“Not. yet," said the girl. “Grandmother, do my hair 
for me, it is so heavy." 

With these words she endeavored to part her mass of 
long, reddish-brown hair with her slender hands, and to 
free it from the straws that had become entangled 
in it. 

“ Lie still," said the surgeon in a warning voice. 

“ But it is so heavy," said the sick girl, smiling and 
showing Nebsecht her abundant wealth of golden hair 
as if it were a fatiguing burden. “ Come, grandmother, 
and help me." 

The old woman leaned over the child, and combed her 
long locks carefully with a coarse comb made of gray horn, 
gently disengaged the straws from the golden tangle, 
and at last laid two thick long plaits on her granddaughter's 
shoulders. 

Nebsecht knew that every movement of the wounded 
girl might do mischief, and his impulse was to stop the old 
woman's proceedings, but his tongue seemed spell-bound. 
Surprised, motionless, and with crimson cheeks, he stood 
opposite the girl, and his eyes followed every movement of 
her hands with anxious observation. 

She did not notice him. 

When the old woman laid down the comb Uarda drew a 
long breath. 

“ Grandmother," she said, “give me the mirror." 

The old woman brought a shard of dimly gJazed, baked 
clay. The girl turned to the light, contemplated the 
undefined reflection for a moment, and said: 

“ I have not seen a flower for so long, grandmother." 

“Wait, child," she replied; she took from a jug the 
rose, which the princess had laid on the bosom of her 
grandchild, and offered it toiler. Before Uarda could take 
it, the withered petals fell, and dropped upon her. The 
surgeon stooped, gathered them up, and put them into the 
child's hand. 

“How good you are!" she said; “lam called Uarda — 
like this flower — and I love roses and the fresh air. Will 
you carry me out now?" 

Nebsecht called the paraschites, who came into the hut 


144 


UARDA. 


with his son, and they carried the girl out into the air, 
and laid her under the humble tent they had contrived for 
her. The soldier's knees trembled while he held the light 
burden of his daughter's weight in his strong hands, and 
he sighed when he laid her carefully down on tho 
mat. 

“ITow blue the sky is!" cried Uarda. “Ah! grand- 
father has watered my pomegranate; I thought so! and 
there come my doves! Give me some corn in my hand, 
grandmother. How pleased they are." 

The graceful birds, with black rings round their reddish- 
gray necks, flew confidingly to her, and took the corn that 
she playfully laid between her lips. 

Nebsecht looked on with astonishment at this pretty 
play. He felt as if a new jvorld had opened to him, and 
some new sense, hitherto unknown to him, had been re- 
vealed to him within his breast. He silently sat down in 
front of the hut, and drew the picture of a rose on the sand 
with a reed-stem that he picked up. 

Perfect stillness was around him; the doves even had 
flown up, and settled on the roof. Presently the dog 
barked, steps approached ; Uarda lifted herself up and 
said : 

“ Grandmother, it is the priest Pentaur." 

“ Who told you?" asked the old woman. 

“I know it," answered the girl, decidedly; and in a 
few moments a sonorous voice cried: “Good-day to you. 
How is your invalid ?" 

Pentaur was soon standing by Uarda; pleased to hear 
Nebsecht's good report, and with the sweet face of the 
girl. He had some flowers in his hand, that a happy 
maiden had laid on the altar of the Goddess Hathor, 
which he had served since the previous day, and he gave 
them to the sick girl, who took them with a blush, and 
held them between her clasped hands. 

“ The great goddess whom I serve sends you these," 
said Pentaur, “and they will bring you healing. Con- 
tinue to resemble them. You are pure" and fair like them, 
and your course henceforth may be like theirs. As the 
sun gives life to the gray horizon, so you bring joy to 
this dark hut. Preserve your innocence, and wherever 
you go you will bring love, as flowers spring in every spot 


UARDA. 


145 


that is trodden by the golden foot of Hathor. * May her 
blessing rest upon you!” 

He had spoken the last words half to the old couple and 
half to Uarda, and was already turning to depart when, 
behind a heap of maize straw that lay close to the awning 
over the girl, the bitter cry of a child was heard, and a 
little boy came forward who held, as high as he could 
reach, a little cake, of which the dog, who seemed to know 
him well, had snatched half. 

“ How do you come here, Scherau?” the paraschites 
asked the weeping boy — the unfortunate child that Hekt 
was bringing up as a dwarf. 

“ I wanted,” sobbed the little one, “to bring the cake 
to Uarda. She is ill — I had so much ” 

“ Poor child,” said the paraschites, stroking the boy’s 
hair; “ there — give it to Uarda.” 

Scherau went up to the sick girl, knelt down by her, 
and whispered, with streaming eyes: 

“ Take it! It is good, and very sweet, and if I get 
another cake, and Hekt will let me out, I will bring it to 
you.” 

“Thank you, good little Scherau,” said Uarda, kissing 
the child. Then she turned to Pentaur and said: 

“ For weeks he has had nothing but papyrus pith and 
lotus-bread, f and now he brings me the cake which grand- 
mother gave old Hekt yesterday.” 

The child blushed all over, and stammered : 

“It is only half — but I did not touch it. Your dog bit 
out this piece, and this.” 

He touched the honey with the tip of his finger, and put 

* Hatkor is frequently called “tlie golden,” particularly at Den- 
dera. She has much in common with the “golden Aphrodite.” 

f According to Herodotus ii, 92, Diodorus i, 80, Pliny xiii, 10, the 
Egyptians eat the lower part of the stem of the papyrus, at any rate 
the pith of it; by preference when it had been dried in the oven. 
Herodqtus also tells us that ‘ ‘ they pound the seeds of the lotus, 
which resembles a poppy, and -make bread of it.” As we see from 
the monuments that enormous quantities of lotus plants grew on the 
banks of the Nile, the statement of Diodorus that a child, till it was 
grown up, cost its parents no more than twenty drachmae — about 
fifteen shillings — is quite creditable It is extraordinary that in spite 
of the great utility of these plants, particularly of the papyrus, 
neither of them now occurs in Egypt. 


146 


UARDA. 


it to his lips. “ I was a long time behind the straw there 
for I did not like to come out because of the strangers 
there.” He pointed to Nebsecht and Pentaur. “ But 
now I must go home,” he cried. 

The child was going, but Pentaur stopped him, seized 
him, lifted him up in his arms and kissed him; saying, as 
he turned to Nebsecht: 

“ They were wise, who represented Horns — the symbol 
of the triumph of good over evil and of purity over the im- 
pure — in the form of a child. Bless you, my little friend; 
be good, and always give away what you have to make 
others happy. It will not make your house rich — but it 
will your heart!” 

Scherau clung to the priest, and involuntarily raised his 
little hand to stroke Pentaur’s cheek. An unknown ten- 
derness had filled his little heart, and he felt as if he must 
throw his arms round the poet’s neck and cry upon his 
breast. 

But Pentaur set him down upon the ground, and he 
trotted down into the valley. There he paused. The sun 
was high in the heavens, and he must return to the witch’s 
cave and his board, but he would so much like to go a little 
further — only as far as to the king’s tomb, which was quite 
near. 

Close by the door of this tomb was a thatch of palm- 
branches, and under this the sculptor Batau, a very aged 
man, was accustomed to rest. The old man was deaf, but 
he passed for the best artist of his time, and with justice; 
he had designed the beautiful pictures and hieroglyphic in- 
scriptions in Seti’s splendid buildings at Abydos and 
Thebes, as well as in the tomb of that prince, and he was 
now working at the decoration of the walls in the grave of 
Kameses. 

Scherau had often crept close up to him. and thought- 
fully watched him at work, and then tried himself to make 
animal and human figures out of a bit of clay. 

One day the old man had observed him. 

The sculptor had silently taken his humble attempt out 
of his hand, and had returned it to him with a smile of 
encouragement. 

From that time a peculiar tie had sprung up between 
the two. Scherau would venture to sit down by the sculp- 


UARDA. 


147 


tor, and try to imitate his finished images. Not a word 
was exchanged between them, but often the deaf old man 
would destroy the boy’s works, often on the contrary im- 
prove them with a touch of his own hand, and not seldom 
nod at him to encourage him. 

When he stayed away the old man missed his pupil, and 
Scherau’s happiest hours were those which he passed at 
his side. 

He was not forbidden to take some clay home with him. 
There, when the old woman’s back was turned, he 
molded a variety of images, which he destroyed as soon as 
they were finished. 

* While he lay on his rack his hands were left free, and 
he tried to reproduce the various forms which lived in his 
imagination; he forgot the present in his artistic attempts, 
and his bitter lot acquired a flavor of the sweetest 
enjoyment. 

But to-day it was too late; he must give up his visit to 
the tomb of Rameses. 

Once more he looked back at the hut, and then hurried 
into the dark cave. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Pentaur also soon quitted the hut of the paraschites. 

Lost in meditation, he went along the hill-path which 
led to the temple * which Ameni had put under his 
direction. 

He foresaw many disturbed and anxious hours in the im- 
mediate future. 

The sanctuary of which he was the superior, had been 
dedicated to her own memory, and to the Goddess Hathor, 
by Hatasu,f a great queen of the dethroned dynasty. 

*This temple is well proportioned, and remains in good preserva- 
tion. Copies of the interesting pictures discovered in it are to be 
found in the “Fleet of an Egyptian queen” by Dumichen. Other 
details may be found in Lepsius’ Monuments of Egypt. 

f The daughter of Thotmes I, wife of her brother Thotmes II, and 
predecessor of her second brother Thotmes III. An energetic woman 
who executed great works, and caused herself to be represented with 
the helmet and beard-case of a man, 


148 


VARDA . 


The priests who served it were endowed with peculiar 
chartered privileges, which hitherto had been strictly re- 
spected. Their dignity was hereditary, going down from 
father to son, and they had the right of choosing their 
director from among themselves. 

Now their chief priest Rui was ill and dying, and Ameni, 
under whose jurisdiction they came, had, without consult- 
ing them, sent the young poet Pentaur to fill his place. 

They had received the intruder most unwillingly, and 
combined strongly against him when it became evident 
that he was disposed to establish a severe rule and to 
abolish many abuses which had become established 
customs. 

They had devolved the greeting of the rising sun on the 
temple-servants; Pentaur required that the younger one, 
at least, should take part in chanting the morning hymn, 
and himself led the choir. They had trafficked with the 
offerings laid on the altar of the goddess; the new master 
repressed this abuse, as well as the extortions of which 
they were guilty toward women in sorrow, who visited the 
temple of Hathor in greater number than any other 
sanctuary. 

The poet — brought up in the temple of Seti to self-con- 
trol, order, exactitude, and decent customs, deeply pene- 
trated with a sense of the dignity of his position, and accus- 
tomed to struggle with special zeal against indolence of 
body and spirit — was disgusted with the slothful life and 
fraudulent dealings of his subordinates; and the deeper 
insight which yesterday’s experience had given him into 
the poverty and sorrow of human existence, made him re- 
solve with increased warmth that he would awake them to 
a new life. 

The conviction that the lazy herd whom he commanded 
was called upon to pour consolation into a thousand sor- 
rowing hearts, to dry innumerable tears, and to clothe the 
dry sticks of despair with the fresh verdure of hope, urged 
him to strong measures. 

Yesterday he had seen how, with calm indifference, they 
had listened to the deserted wife, the betrayed maiden, to 
the woman, who implored the withheld blessing of chil- 
dren, to the anxious mother, the forlorn widow — and sought 
only to take advantage of sorrow, to extort gifts for the 
goddess, or better still for their own pockets or belly. 


UAUDA . 


149 


Now he was nearing the scene of his new labors. 

There stood the reverend building, rising stately from 
the valley on four terraces handsomely and singularly 
divided, and resting on the western side against the high 
amphitheater of yellow cliffs. 

On the closely joined foundation stones gigantic hawks 
were carved in relief, each with the emblem of life, and 
symbolized Horus, the son of the goddess, who brings all 
that fades to fresh bloom, and all that dies to resurrec- 
tion. 

On each terrace stood a hall open to the east, and sup- 
ported on two and twenty archaic* * * § pillars. On their 
inner walls elegant pictures and inscriptions in the finest 
sculptured work recorded, for the benefit of posterity, the 
great things that Hatasu had done with the help of the 
gods of Thebes. 

There were the ships which she had to send to Punt, f to 
enrich Egypt with the treasures of the east; there the won- 
ders brought to Thebes from Arabia might be seen; there 
were delineated the houses \ of the inhabitants of the land 
of frankincense, and all the fishes of the Red Sea, in dis- 
tinct and characteristic outline. § 

On the third and fourth terraces were the small adjoin- 
ing rooms of Hatasu and her brothers Thotmes II and III, 
which were built against the rock, and entered by granite 
door-ways. In them purifications were accomplished, the 
images of the goddess worshiped, and the more distin- 
guished worshipers admitted to confess. The sacred cows 
of the goddess were kept in a side-building. 

As Pentaur approached the great gate of the terrace- 


* Polygonal pillars, which were used first in tomb-building under 
the twelfth dynasty, and after the expulsion of the Hyksos under 
the kings of the seventeenth and eighteenth, in public build- 
ings ; but under the subsequent races of kings they ceased to be 
employed. 

f Arabia ; apparently also the coast of east Africa, south of 
Egypt as far as Somali. The latest of the lists published by 
Mariette, of the southern nations conquered by Thotmes III, mentions 
it. This list was found on the pylon of the temple of Karnak. 

% They stood on piles and were entered by ladders. 

§ The species are in many cases distinguishable — Dr. Donitz has 
named several. 


UARDA . 


150 

temple, he became the witness of a scene which filled him 
with resentment. 

A woman implored to he admitted into the forecourt^ to 
pray at the altar of the goddess for her husband, who was 
very ill, but the sleek gate-keeper drove her back with 
rough words. 

“ It is written up,” said he, pointing to the inscription 
over the gate, “only the purified may set their foot across 
this threshold, and you cannot be purified but by the 
smoke of incense.” 

“ Then swing the censer for me,” said the woman, “and 
take this silver ring — it is all I have.” 

“A silver ring!” cried the porter, indignantly. “Shall 
the goddess be impoverished for your sake! The grains , 
of Anta,* that would be used in purifying you, would cost 
ten times as much.” 

“But I have no more,” replied the woman, “my hus- 
band, for whom I come to pray, is ill; he cannot work, and 
my children ” 

“ You fatten them up and deprive the goddess of her 
due,” cried the gate-keeper. “Three rings down, or I y 
shut the gate.” 

“ Be merciful,” said the woman, weeping. “ What will . 
become of us if Hathor does not help my husband?” 

“ Will our goddess fetch the doctor?” asked the porter. 
“She has something to do beside curing sick starvelings. 
Beside, that is not her office. Go to Imhotep, f or to 
Chunsu, the counsellor, J or to the great Techuti her- 
self, who helps the sick. There is no quack-medicine to 
be got here.” 

*An incense frequently mentioned. 

f The son of Ptah, named Asklepois by the Greeks. Memphis >\vas 
the chief city of his worship; he is usually represented with a cap 
on, and a book on his knee. There are fine statues of him at Berlin, 
the Louvre, and other museums. A bronze of great beauty is in the 
possession of Pastor Haken at Riga. 

JThe third of the Triad of Thebes; he is identical with Toth, and 
frequently addressed as of good counsel for the healing of the sick. 

His great Temple in Thebes (Karnak) is well preserved. In the time 
of the twentieth dynasty B. C. 1273 to 1095, his statue (according to 
a passage interpreted by E. de Ronge) was sent into Asia to cure the 
sister of the wife of Rameses XII, an Asiatic princess, who was \ 
possessed by devils. 


UARDA. 


151 


“ I only want comfort in my trouble,” said the woman. 

“ Comfort!” laughed the gate-keeper, measuring the 
comely young woman with his eye. “ That you may have 
cheaper.” 

The woman turned pale, and drew back from the hand 
the man stretched out toward her. 

At this moment, Pentaur, full of wrath, stepped between 
them. 

He raised his hand in blessing over the woman, who bent 
low before him, and said, “Whoever calls fervently on the 
Divinity is near to him. You are pure. Enter.” 

As soon as she had disappeared within the temple, the 
priest turned to the gate-keeper and exclaimed: 

“ Is this how you serve the goddess; is this how you 
take advantage of a heart-wrung woman? Give me the 
keys of this gate. Your office is taken from you, and 
early to-morrow you go out in the fields, and keep the 
geese of Hathor.” 

The porter threw himself on his knees with loud out- 
cries; but Pentaur turned his back on him, entered the 
sanctuary, and mounted the steps which led to his dwelling 
on the third terrace. 

A few priests whom he passed turned their backs upon 
him, others looked down at their dinners, eating noisily, 
and making as if they did not see him. They had com- 
bined strongly, and were determined to expel the incon- 
venient intruder at any price. 

Having reached his room, which had been splendidly 
decorated for his predecessor, Pentaur laid aside his new 
insignia, comparing sorrowfully the past and the present. 

To what an exchange Aineni had condemned him! 

Here, wherever he looked, he met with sulkiness and 
aversion; while, when he walked through the courts of the 
House of Seti, a hundred boys would hurry toward him, 
and cling affectionately to his robe. Honored there by 
great and small, his every word had had its value; and 
when each day he gave utterance to his thoughts, what he 
bestowed came back to him refined by earnest discourse 
with his associates and superiors, and he gained new treas- 
ures for his inner life. 

“What is rare,” thought he, “is full of charm; and 
yet how hard it is to do without what is habitual !” 


152 


VARDA. 


The occurrences of the last few days passed before his 
mental sight. Bent-Anat’s image appeared before him, 
and took a more and more distinct and captivating form. 
His heart began to beat wildly, the blood rushed faster 
through his veins; he hid his face in his hands, and re- 
called every glance, every word from her lips. 

“I follow thee willingly,” she had said to him before 
the hut of the paraschites. Now he asked himself whether 
he were worthy of such a follower. 

He had indeed broken through the old bonds, but not 
to disgrace the house that was dear to him, only to let new 
light into its dim chambers. 

“ To do what we have earnestly felt to be right,” said 
he to himself, “ may seem worthy of punishment to men, 
but cannot before God.” 

He sighed and walked out into the terrace in a mood of 
lofty excitement, and fully resolved to do here nothing 
but what was right, to lay the foundation of all that was 
good. 

“ We men,” thought he, “prepare sorrow when we come 
into the world, and lamentation when we leave it; and so 
it is our duty in the intermediate time to fight with suffer- 
ing, and to sow the seeds of joy. There are many tears here 
to be wiped away. To work then!” 

The poet found none of his subordinates on the upper 
terrace. They had all met in the forecourt of the temple, 
and were listening to the gate keeper’s tale, and seemed to 
sympathize with his angry complaint — against whom Pen- 
tan r well knew. 

With a firm step he went toward them and said: 

“ I have expelled this man from among us, for he is a 
disgrace to us. To-morrow he quits the temple.” 

The gate-keeper looked inquiringly at the priests. 

Not one moved. 

“ Go back into your house,” said Pentaur, going closer 
to him. 

The porter obeyed. 

Pentaur locked the door of the little room, gave the key 
to one of the temple servants, and said: “Perform your 
duty, watch the man, and if he escapes you will go after 
the geese to-morrow too. See, my friends, how many 
worshipers kneel there before our altars— go and fulfill 


UARDA. 153 

your office. I will wait in the confessional to receive com- 
plaints, and to administer comfort.” 

The priests separated and went to the votaries. Pentaur 
once more mounted the steps, and sat down in the narrow 
confessional which was closed by a curtain; on its wall 
the picture of Hatasu was to be seen, drawing the milk of 
eternal life from the udders of the cow Hathor.* 

He had hardly taken his place when a temple servant an- 
nounced the arrival of a veiled lady. The bearers of her 
litter were thickly veiled, and she had requested to be con- 
ducted to the confession chamber. The servant handed 
Pentaur a token by which the high-priest of the great 
temple of Amon, on the other bank of the Nile, granted 
her the privilege of entering the inner rooms of the temple 
with the Kechiu,f and to communicate with all priests, 
even with the highest of the initiated. 

The poet withdrew behind a curtain, and awaited the 
stranger with a disquiet that seemed to him all the more 
singular that he had frequently found himself in a similar 
position. Even the noblest dignitaries had often been 
transferred to him by Ameni when they had come to the 
temple to have their visions interpreted. 

A tall female figure entered the still, sultry stone room, 
sank on her knees, and put up a long and absorbed prayer 
before the figure of Hathor. Pentaur also, seen by no one, 
lifted his hands, and fervently addressed himself to the 
omnipresent spirit with a prayer for strength and purity. 

Just 6s his arms fell the lady raised her head. It was as 
though the prayers of the two souls had united to mount 
upward together. 

/ The veiled lady rose and dropped her veil. 

V It was Bent-Anat. 

In the agitation of her soul she had sought the Goddess 
Hathor, who guides the beating heart of woman and spins 
the threads which bind man and wife. 

“ High mistress of heaven! many-named and beautiful!” 
she began to pray aloud, “ golden Hathor! who knowest 
grief and ecstasy — the present and the future — draw near 

* A remarkably life-like figure in relief, in perfect preservation. 

f Egyptians who were admitted to the innermost chambers and 
the highest grades of learning. 


154 


UARDA. 


to thy child, and guide the spirit of thy servant, that he 
may advise me well. I am the daughter of a father who is 
great and noble and truthful" as one of the gods. He ad- 
vises me — he will never compel me — to yield to a man whom 
I can never love. Nay, another has met me, humble in 
birth but noble in spirit and in gifts ” 

Thus far, Pentaur, incapable of speech, had overheard 
the princess. 

Ought he to remain concealed and hear all her secret, or 
should he step forth and show himself to her? His pride 
called loudly to him: “ Now she will speak your name; 
you are the chosen one of the fairest and noblest.” But 
another voice to which he had accustomed himself to listen 
in severe self-discipline made itself heard, and said — “ Let 
her say nothing in ignorance, that she need be ashamed of 
if she knew.” 

He blushed for her — he opened the curtain and went for- 
ward into the presence of Bent-Anat. 

The princess drew back startled. 

“ Art thou Pentaur,” she asked, “or one of the Immor- 
tals?” 

“I am Pentaur,” he answered, firmly, “a man. with all 
the weakness of his race, but with a desire for what is 
good. Linger here and pour out thy soul to our goddess; 
my whole life shall be a prayer for thee.” 

The poet looked full at her; then he turned quickly, 
as if to avoid a danger, toward the door of the con- 
fessional. . ' % 

Bent-Anat called his name, and he stayed his steps. 

“The daughter of Rameses,” she said, “need offer no 
justification of her appearance here, but the maiden Bent- 
Anat,” and she colored as she spoke, “expected to find, 
not thee, but the old priest Rui, and she desired his advice. 
Now leave me to pray.” 

Bent-Anat sank on her knees, and Pentaur went out 
into the open air. 

When the princess too had left the confessional, loud 
voices were heard on the south side of the terrace on which 
they stood. 

She hastened toward the parapet. 

“ Hail to Pentaur!” was shouted up from below. 

The poet rushed forward, and placed himself near the 


tTARDA. 155 

princess. Both looked down into the valley, and could be 
seen by all. 

“Hail, hail! Pentaur,” was called doubly loud. “Hail 
to our teacher! come back to the House of Seti. Down 
with the persecutors of Pentaur — down with our 
oppressors!” 

At the head of the youths, who, so soon as they had 
found out whither the poet had been exiled, had escaped 
to tell him that they were faithful to him, stood the Prince 
Rameri, who nodded triumphantly to his sister, and Anana 
stepped forward to inform the honored teacher, in a solemn 
and well-studied speech, that, in the event of Ameni 
refusing to recall him, they had decided requesting their 
fathers to place them at another school. 

The young sage spoke well, and Bent-Anat followed his 
words, not without approbation; but Pentaur’s face grew 
darker, and before his favorite disciple had ended his 
speech he interrupted him sternly. 

^ His voice was at first reproachful, and then complaining, 
and, loud as he spoke, only sorrow rang in his tones, and 
not anger. 

“ In truth,” he concluded, “every word that I have 
spoken to you I could but find it in me to regret, if it has 
contributed to encourage you to this mad act. You were 
born in palaces; learn to obey, that later you may know 
how to command. Back to your school! Y r ou hesitate? 
Then I will come out against you with the watchman, and 
drive you back, for you do me and yourselves small honor 
by such a proof of affection. Go back to the school you 
belong to.” 

The school-boys dared make no answer, but surprised and 
disenchanted turned to go home. 

Bent-Anat cast down her eyes as she met those of her 
brother, who shrugged his shoulders, and then she looked 
half shyly, half respectfully, at the poet; but soon again 
her eyes turned to the plain below, for thick dust-clouds 
whirled across it, the sound of hoofs and the rattle of 
wheels became audible, and at the same moment the 
chariot of Septah, the chief haruspex, and a vehicle with 
the heavily-armed guard of the House of Seti, stopped near 
the terrace. 

The angry old man sprang quickly to the ground, called 


156 


i TARDA . 


the host of escaped pupils to him in a stern voice, ordered 
the guard to drive them back to the school, and hurried 
up to the temple gates like a vigorous youth. The 
priests received him with the deepest reverence, and at once 
laid their complaints before him. 

He heard them willingly, but did not let them discuss 
the matter; then, though with some difficulty, he quickly 
mounted the steps, down which Bent-Anat came toward 
him. 

The princess felt that she would divert all the blame 
and misunderstanding to herself, if Sep tali recognized 
her; her hand involuntarily reached for her veil, but she 
drew it back quickly, looked with quiet dignity into the 
old man’s eyes, which flashed with anger, and proudly 
passed by him. The haruspex bowed, but without giving 
her his blessing, and when he met Pentaur on the second 
terrace, ordered that the temple should be cleared of wor- 
shipers. 

This was done in a few minutes, and the priests were 
witnesses of the most painful scene which had occurred for 
years in their quiet sanctuary. 

The head of the haruspices of the House of Seti was the 
most determined adversary of the poet who had so early 
been initiated into the mysteries, and whose keen intel- 
lect often shook those very ramparts which the zealous 
old man had, from conviction, labored to strengthen from 
his youth up. The vexatious occurrences, of which he 
had been a witness at the House of Seti, and here also but 
a few minutes since, he regarded as the consequence of 
the unbridled license of an ill-regulated imagination, and 
in stern language he called Pentaur to account for the 
“ revolt ” of the school-boys. 

“And besides our boys,” he exclaimed, “you have led 
the daughteiLof Baineses astray. She was not yet purged 
of her uncleanness, and yet you tempt her to an assigna- 
tion, not even in the strangers’ quarters — but in the holy 
jjouse of this pure Divinity.” 

Undeserved praise is dangerous to the weak; unjust 
blame may turn even the strong from the right way. 

Pentaur indignantly repelled the accusations of the old 
man, called them unworthy of his age, his position, and 
his name, and for fear that his anger might carry him too 


UARDA. 


157 


far, turned his back upon him; but the haruspex ordered 
him to remain, and in his presence questioned the priests, 
who unanimously accused the poet of having admitted to 
the temple another unpurified woman besides Bent-Anat, 
and of having expelled the gate-keeper and thrown him 
into prison for opposing the crime. 

The haruspex ordered that the “ ill-used man ” should 
be set at liberty. 

Pentaur resisted this command, asserted his right to 
govern in this temple, and with a trembling voice re- 
quested Septah to quit the place. 

The haruspex showed him Amends ring, by which, dur- 
ing his residence in Thebes, he made him his plenipoten- 
tiary, degraded Pentaur from his dignity, but ordered him 
not to quit the sanctuary till further notice, and then finally 
departed from the temple of Hatasu. 

Pentaur had yielded in silence to the signet of his chief, 
and returned to the confessional in which he had met 
Bent-Anat. He felt his soul shaken to its very founda- 
tions, his thoughts were confused, his feelings struggling 
with each other ;■ he shivered, and when he heard the 
laughter of the priests and the gate-keeper, who were 
triumphing in their easy victory, he started and shuddered 
like a man who in passing a mirror should see a brand of 
disgrace on his brow. 

But by degrees he recovered himself, his spirit grew 
clearer, and when he left the little room to look toward 
the east — where, on the further shore, rose the palace 
where Bent-Anat must be — a deep contempt for his 
enemies filled his soul, and a proud feeling of renewed 
manly energy. He did not conceal from himself that he 
had enemies; that a time of struggle was beginning for 
him; but he looked forward to it like a young hero to the 
morning of his first battle. 


CHAPTER XV. 

The afternoon shadows were already growing long, 
when a splendid chariot drew up to the gates of the 
terrace-temple. Paaker, the chief pioneer, stood up in it, 
driving his haudsome and fiery Syrian horses. Behind 


158 


UARDA. 


him stood an Ethiopian slave, and his big dog followed 
the swift team with his tongue out. 

As he approached the temple he heard himself called, 
and checked the pace of his horses. A tiny man hurried 
up to him, and, as soon as he had recognized in him the 
dwarf Nemu, he cried, angrily: 

“ Is it for you, you rascal, that I stop my drive? What 
do you want?” 

4,4 To crave,” said the little man, bowing humbly, “that, 
when thy business in the City of the Dead is finished, thou 
wilt carry me back to Thebes.” 

“You are Mena’s dwarf ?” asked the pioneer. 

“By no means,” replied Nemu. “I belong to his 
neglected wife, the lady Nefert. I can only cover the 
road very slowly with my little legs, while the hoofs of 
your horses devour the way — as a crocodile does his prey.” 

“ Get up !” said Paaker. “Did you come here on 
foot ?” 

“No, my lord,” replied Nemu, “on an ass; but a demon 
entered into the beast, and has struck it with sickness. I 
had to leave it on the road. The beasts of Anubis will 
have a better supper than we to-night.” 

“Things are not done handsomely then at your mistress’ 
house?” asked Paaker. 

“We still have bread,” replied Nemu, “and the Nile is 
full of water. Much meat is not necessary for women and 
dwarfs, but our last cattle take a form which is too hard 
for human j^eeth.” 

The pioneer did not understand the joke, and looked 
inquiringly at the dwarf. 

“The form of money,’* said the little man, “ and that 
cannot be chewed; soon that will be gone too, and then 
the point will be to find a recipe for making nutritious 
cakes out of earth, water and palm-leaves. It makes very 
little difference to me, a dwarf does not need much — but 
the poor tender lady!” 

Paaker touched his horses with such a violent stroke of 
his whip that they reared high, and it took all his strength 
to control their spirit. 

“ The horses’ jaws will be broken,” muttered the slave 
behind. “ What a shame with such fine beasts!” 

“Have you to pay for them?” growled Paaker. Then 
he turned again to the dwarf, and asked: 


UARDA. 


159 


“ Why does Mena let the ladies want?” 

“ He no longer cares for his wife,” replied the dwarf, 
casting his eyes down sadly. “At the last division of the 
spoil he passed by the gold and silver, and took a foreign 
woman into his tent. Evil demons have blinded him, for 
where is there a woman fairer than Ne.fert?” 

“You love you mistress?” 

“As my very eyes.” 

During this conversation they had arrived at the terrace- 
temple. Paaker threw the reins to the slave, ordered 
him to wait with Nemu, and turned to the gate-keeper 
to explain to him, with the help of a handful of gold, 
his desire of being conducted to Pentaur, the chief of the 
temple. 

The gate-keeper, swinging a censer before him with a 
hasty action, admitted him into the sanctuary. 

“ You will find him on the third terrace,” he said, “ but 
he is no longer our superior.” 

“ They said so in the temple of Seti, whence I have just 
come,” replied Paaker. 

The porter shrugged his shoulders with a sneer, and 
said : “ The palm-tree that is quickly set up falls down more 
quickly still.” Then he desired a servant to conduct the 
stranger to Pentaur. 

The poet recognized the Mohar at once, asked his will, 
and learned that he was come to have a wonderful vision 
interpreted by him. 

Paaker explained before relating his dream, that he did 
not ask this service for nothing; and when the priest's 
countenance darkened, he added: 

“ I will send a fine beast for sacrifice to the goddess 
if the interpretation is favorable.” 

“ And in the opposite case?” asked Pentaur, who, in the 
House of Seti, never would have anything whatever to do 
with the payments of the worshipers or the offerings of the 
devout. 

“ I will offer a sheep,” replied Paaker, who did not per- 
ceive the subtle irony that lurked in Pentaur's words, and 
who was accustomed to pay for the gifts of the Divinity in 
proportion to their value to himself. 

Pentaur thought of the verdict which Gagabu, only 
two evenings since, had passed on the Mohar, and it 


160 


UARDA. 


occurred to him that he would test how far the man’s 
superstition would lead him. So he asked, while he sup- 
pressed a smile: 

“ And if I can foretell nothing bad, but also nothing 
actually good ” 

“ An antelope, and four geese,” answered Paaker, 
promptly. • 

“But if I were altogether disinclined to put myself at 
your service?” asked Pentaur. “ If I thought it unworthy 
of a priest to let the gods be paid in proportion to their 
favors toward a particular person, like corrupt officials; if 
I now showed you — you — and I have known you from a 
school-boy, that there are things that cannot be bought with 
inherited wealth?” 

The pioneer drew back, astonished and angry, but 
Pentaur continued calmly: 

“ I stand here as the minister of the Divinity; and never- 
theless, I see by your countenance that you were on the 
point of lowering yourself by showing to me your violent 
and extortionate spirit. 

“The immortals send ns dreams, not to give us a fore- 
taste of joy or caution us against danger, but to remind 
us so to prepare our souls that we may submit quietly 
to suffer evil, and with heartfelt gratitude accept the good; 
and so gain from each profit for the inner life. I will not 
interpret your dream! Come without gifts, but with a 
humble heart, and with longing for inward purification, 
and I will pray to the gods that they may enlighten me, and 
give you such interpretation of even evil dreams that they 
may be fruitful in blessing. 

“ Leave me, and quit the temple!” 

Paaker ground his teeth with rage; but he controlled 
himself, and only said as he slowly withdrew: 

“ If your office had not already been taken from you, the 
insolence with which you have dismissed me might have 
cost you your place. " We shall meet again, and then you 
shall learn that inherited wealth in the right hand is worth 
more than you will like.” 

“Another enemy!” thought the poet, when he found 
himself alone and stood erect in the glad consciousness of 
having done right. 

During Paaker’s interview with the poet, the dwarf Nemu 


UARDA. 161 

had chattered to the porter, and had learned from him all 
that had previously occurred. 

Paaker mounted his chariot pale with rage, and whipped 
on his horses before the dwarf had clambered up the step; 
but the slave seized the little man, and set him carefully on 
his feet behind his master. 

“ The villain, the scoundrel! he shall repent it — Pentaur 
is he called! the hound !” muttered the pioneer to himself. 

The dwarf lost none of his words, and when he caught 
the name of Pentaur he called to the pioneer, and said: 

“ They have appointed a scoundrel to be the superior of 
this temple; his name is Pentaur. He was expelled from 
the temple of Seti for his immorality, and now he 
has stirred up the younger scholars to rebellion, and invited 
unclean women into the temple. My lips hardly dare re- 
peat it, but the gate-keeper swore it was true — that the 
chief haruspex from the House of Seti found him in con- 
ference with Bent-Anat, the king’s daughter, and at once 
deprived him of his office.” 

“ With Bent-Anat?” replied the pioneer, and muttered, 
before the dwarf could find time to answer, “ Indeed, with 
Bent-Anat!” and he recalled the day before yesterday, when 
the princess had remained so long with the priest in the 
hovel of the paraschites, while he had talked to Nefert and 
visited the old witch. 

“ I should not care to be in the priest’s skin,” observed 
Nemu, “ for though Rameses is far away, the Regent Ani 
is near enough. He is a gentleman who seldom pounces, 
but who will not let the doves be seized out of his own 
nest.” 

Paaker looked inquiringly at Nemu. 

“I know,” said the dwarf, “Ani has asked Rameses’ 
consent to marry his daughter. — 

“ He has already asked it,” continued the dwarf as 
Paaker smiled incredulously, “ and the king is not disin- 
clined to give it. He likes making marriages — as thou 
must know pretty well.” 

“ I?” said Paaker, surprised. 

“ He forced Katuti to "give her daughter as wife to the 
charioteer. That I know from herself. She can prove it 
to thee. ” 

Paaker shook his head in denial, but the dwarf continued 


162 


UARDA. 


eagerly, “ Yes, yes! Katuti would have had thee for her 
son-in-law, and it was the king, not she, who broke off the 
betrothal. Thou must at the same time have been in- 
scribed in the black books of the ‘ high gate/ for Rameses 
used many hard names for thee. One of us is like a mouse 
behind the curtain, which knows a good deal.” 

Paaker suddenly brought his horses to a stand-still, threw 
the reins to the slave, sprang from the chariot, called the 
dwarf to his side, and said: 

“We will walk from here to the river, and you shall 
tell me all you know; but if an untrue word passes your 
lips I will have you eaten by my dogs.” 

“I know thou canst keep thy word,” gasped the little 
man. “ But go a little slower if thou wilt, for I am quite 
out of breath. Let Katuti herself tell thee how it all came 
about. Rameses compelled her to give her daughter to the 
charioteer. I do not know what he said of thee, but it 
was not complimentary. My poor mistress! she let her- 
self be caught by the dandy, the ladies' man — and now she 
may weep and wail. When I pass the great gates of thy 
house with Katuti, she often sighs and complains bitterly. 
And with good reason, for it will soon be all over with our 
noble estate, and we must seek a republic far away among 
the Amu * in the low lands; for the nobles will soon avoid 
us as outcasts. Thou mayst be glad that thou hast not 
linked thy fate to ours; but I have a faithful heart, and 
will share my mistress' trouble.” 

“ You speak riddles,” said Paaker, “ what have they 
to fear?” 

The dwarf now related how Nefert's brother had gambled 
away the mummy of his father, how enormous was the 
sum he had lost, and that degradation must overtake 
Katuti, and her daughter with her. 

“Who can save them,” he whimpered. “ Her shame- 
less husband squanders his inheritance and his prize-money. 
Katuti is poor, and the little words ‘ Give me!' scare away 
friends as the cry of a hawk scares the chickens. My poor 
mistress!” 

* A Semitic tribe, who at the time of our story peopled the eastern 
delta. See “ ^Egypten und die Biicher Moses, ” Ebers, and the second 
edition of “ Histoire de l’Egypte ” by Brugsch. The name Bi-amites 
comes from the old name Amu. 


UARDA. 


163 


“ It is a large sum," muttered Paaker to himself. 

“It is enormous!" sighed the dwarf, “and where is it 
to be found in these hard times? It would have been dif- 
ferent with us, if— ah if And it would be a form of 

madness which I do not believe in, that Nefert should still 
care for her braggart husband. She thinks as much of 
thee as of him." 

Paaker looked at the dwarf half incredulous and half 
threatening. 

4 ‘Ay— -of thee," repeated Nemu. “Since our excursion 
to the Necropolis — the day before yesterday it was — she 
speaks only of thee, praising thy ability, and thy strong 
manly spirit. It is as if some charm obliged her to think 
of thee." 

The pioneer began to walk so fast that his small com- 
panion once more had to ask him to moderate his steps. 

They gained the shore in silence, where Paaker’s boat 
was waiting, which also conveyed his chariot. He lay 
down in the little cabin, called the dwarf to him, and 
said: 

“I am Katuti’s nearest relative; we are now reconciled; 
why does she not turn to me in her difficulty?" 

“ Because she is proud, and thy blood flows in her veins. 
Sooner would she die with her child — she said so — than 
ask thee, against whom she sinned, for an alms." 

“ She did think of me then?" 

“ At once ; nor did she doubt thy generosity. She 
esteems thee highly — 1 repeat it; and if an arrow from a 
Cheta's bow or a visitation of the gods attained Mena, she 
would joyfully place her child in thine arms, and Nefert, 
believe me, has not forgotten her play-fellow. The day 
before yesterday, when she came home from the Necropolis, 
and before the letter had come from the camp, she was full 
of thee — nay, called to thee in her dreams; 1 know it from 
Kandake, her black maid." 

The pioneer looked down and said: 

“ How extraordinary ! And the same night I had a 
vision in which your mistress appeared to me; the insolent 
priest in the temple of Hathor should have interpreted it 
to me." 

“ And he refused ? The fool ! But other folks under- 
stand dreams, and I am not the worst of them. Ask thy 


164 


UARDA. 


servant. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred my inter- 
pretations come true. How was the vision?" 

“ I stood by the Nile," said Paaker, casting down his 
eyes and drawing lines with his whip through the wool of 
the cabin rug. “The water was still, and I saw Nefert 
standing on the further bank and beckoning to me. I 
called to her, and she stepped on the water, which bore 
her up as if it were this carpet. She went over the water 
dry-foot as if it were the stony wilderness. A wonderful 
sight! Shb came nearer to me, and nearer, and already I 
had tried to take her hand, when she ducked under like a 
swan. I went into the water to seize her, and when she 
came up again I clasped her in my arms; but then the 
strangest thing happened — she flowed away, she dissolved 
like the snow on the Syrian hills, when you take it in your 
hand, and yet it was not the -same, for her hair turned to 
water-lilies, and her eyes to blue fishes that swam away 
merrily, and her lips to twigs of coral that sank at once, 
and from her body grew a crocodile, with a head like 
Mena, that laughed and gnashed its teeth at me. Then I 
was seized with blind fury ; I threw myself upon him 
with a drawn sword, he fastened his teeth in my flesh, I 
pierced his throat with my weapon ; the Nile was dark 
with our streaming blood, and so we fought and fought — 
it lasted an eternity — till I awoke." 

Paaker drew a long breath as he ceased speaking; as if 
his wild dream tormented him again. 

The dwarf had listened with eager attention, but several 
minutes passed before he spoke. 

“ A strange dream," he said, “but the interpretation as 
to the future is not hard to find. Nefert is striving to 
reach thee, she longs to be thine; but if thou dost fancy 
that she is already in thy grasp she will elude thee; thy 
hopes will melt like ice, slip away like, sand, if thou dost 
not know how to put the crocodile out of the way." 

At this moment the boat struck the landing-place. 
The pioneer started up, and cried: “We have reached the 
end!" 

“We have reached the end," echoed the little man 
with meaning. “There is only a narrow bridge to step 
over." 

When they both stood on the shore, the dwarf said: 


VARDA. 


165 


“ I have to thank thee for thy hospitality, and when I 
can serve thee command me.” 

‘‘Come here,” cried the pioneer, and drew Nemu away 
with him under the shade of a sycamore veiled in the half 
light of the departing sun. 

“ What do you mean by a bridge which we must step 
over? I do not understand the flowers of speech, and 
desire plain language.” 

The dwarf reflected fora moment, and then g^ked: 

“Shall I say nakedly and openly what I mean, and will 
you not be angry?” 

“ Speak!” 

“Mena is the crocodile. Put him out of the world, and 
yon will have passed the bridge; then Nefert will be thine 
— if thou wilt listen to me.” 

“What shall I do?” 

“ Put the charioteer out of the world.” 

Paaker’s gesture seemed to convey that that was a thing 
that had long been decided on, and he turned his face, for 
a good omen, so that the rising moon should be on his 
right hand. 

The dwarf went on. 

“ Secure Nefert, so that she may not vanish like her 
image in the dream, before you reach the goal; that is to 
say, ransom the honor of your future mother and wife, 
for how could you take an outcast into your house?” 

Paaker looked thoughtfully at the ground. 

“ May I inform my mistress that thou wilt save her?” 
asked Nemu. “ I may? Then all will be well, for he who 
will devote a fortune to love will not hesitate to devote 
a reed lance with a brass point to it to his love and his 
hatred together.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

The sun had set, and darkness covered the City of the 
Dead; but the moon shone above the valley of the kings’ 
tombs, and the projecting masses of the rocky walls of the 
chasm threw sharply defined shadows. A weird silence 
lay upon the desert, where yet far more life was stirring 
than in the noonday hour, for now bats darted like black 


VARDA. 


166 

silken threads through the night air, owls hovered aloft 
on wide-spread wings, small troops of jackals slipped by, 
one following the other up the mountain slopes. From 
time to time their hideous yells, or the whining laugh of 
the hyena, broke the stillness of the night. 

Nor was human life yet at rest in the valley of the 
tombs. A faint light glimmered in the cave of the sor- 
ceress Hekt, and in front of the paraschites’ hut a fire was 
burning, which the grandmother of the sick Uarda now 
and then fed with pieces of dry manure. Two men were 
seated in front of the hut, and gazed in silence on the thin 
flame, whose impure light was almost quenched by the 
clearer glow of the moon; while the third, Uarda’s father, 
disemboweled a large ram, whose head he had already cut 
off. 

“ How the jackals howl!” said the old paraschites, draw- 
ing as he spoke the torn brown cotton cloth, which he had 
put on as a protection against the night air and the djew, 
closer round his bare shoulders. 

“ They scent the fresh meat,” answered the physician 
Nebsecht. “ Throw them the entrails, when you have 
done; the legs and back you can roast. Be careful how 
you cut out the heart — the heart, soldier. There it is! 
What a great beast.” 

Nebsecht took the ram’s heart in his hand, and gazed at 
it with the deepest attention, while the old paraschites 
watched him anxiously. At length: 

“ I promised,” he said, “ to do for you what you wish, 
if you restore the little one to health; but you ask for what- 
is impossible.” 

“ Impossible?” said the physician, “why, impossible? 
You open the corpses, you go in and out of the house of 
the embalmer. Get possession of one of the Kanopis,* 

* Vases of clay, limestone, or alabaster, which were used for the 
preservation of the intestines of the embalmed Egyptians, and repre- - 
sen ted the four genii of death, Amset, Hapi, Tuamutef, and Kheb- 
sennuf. Instead of the cover, the head of the genius to which it 
was dedicated, was placed on each kanopus. Amset (under the pro- 
tection of Isis) has a human head, Hapi (protected by Nephthys) an 
ape’s head, Tuamutef (protected by Neith) a jackal’s head, and 
Ivhebsennuf (protected by Selk) a sparrow-hawk’s head. In one of 
the Christian Coptic Manuscripts, the four archangels are invoked in 
the place of these genii. 


U A III) A. 


16 ? 


lay this heart in it, and take out in its stead the heart of a 
human being. No one — no one will notice it. Nor need 
you do it to-morrow, or the day after to-morrow even. 
Your son can buy a ram to kill every day with my money 
till the right moment comes. Your granddaughter will 
soon grow strong on a good meat diet. Take courage!" 

“ I am not afraid of the danger," said the old man, “ but 
how can I venture to steal from a dead man his life in the 
other world ? And then — in shame and misery have I 
lived, and for many a year — no man has numbered them 
for me — have I obeyed the commandments, that I may be 
found righteous in that world to come, and in the fields of 
Aalu, and in the Sun-bark find compensation for all that I 
have suffered here. You are good and friendly. Why, for 
the sake of a whim, should you sacrifice the future bliss of 
a man, who in all his long life has never known happiness, 
and who has never done you any harm?" 

“What I want with the heart," replied the physician, 
“you cannot understand, but in procuring it for me, you 
will be furthering a great and useful purpose. I have no 
whims, for I am no idler. And as to what concerns your 
salvation, have no anxiety. I am a priest, and take your 
deed and its consequences upon myself; upon myself, do 
you understand? I tell you, as a priest, that what I de- 
mand of you is right, and if the judge of the dead shall 
inquire, ‘ Why didst thou take the heart of a human being 
out of the Kanopus?' then reply — reply to him thus, 
‘ Because Nebsecht, the priest, commanded me and prom- 
ised himself to answer for the deed/ " 

The old man gazed thoughtfully on the ground, and the 
physician continued still more urgently: 

“If you fulfill my wish, then — then I swear to you that, 
when you die, I will take care that your mummy is pro- 
vided with all the amulets, and I myself will write you a 
book of the Entrance into Day,* and have it wound within 
your mummy-cloth, as is done with the great, f That will 
give you power over all demons, and you will be admitted 

* The first section of the so-called Book of the Dead is thus 
entitled. 

f The Books of the Dead are often found among the cloths (by the 
leg or under the arm), or else in the coffin under, or near, the 
mummy. 


168 


UAEDA. 


to the hall of the twofold justice, which punishes and re- 
wards, and your award will be bliss.” 

“ But the theft of a heart will make the weight of my 
sins heavy, when my own heart is weighed,” sighed the old 
man. 

Nebsecht considered for a moment, and then said: “ I 
will give you a written paper, in which I will certify that 
it was L who commanded the theft. You will sew it up in 
a little bag, carry it on your breast, and have it laid with 
you in the grave. Then when Techuti, the agent of the 
soul, receives your justification before Osiris and the 
judges of the dead,* give him the writing. He will read it 
aloud, and you will be accounted just.” 

“ I am not learned in writing,” muttered the paraschites, 
with a slight mistrust that made itself felt in his voice. _ 

“ But I swear to you by the nine great gods, that I will 
write nothing on the paper but what I have promised you. 
I will confess that I, the priest Nebsecht, commanded you 
to take the heart, and that your guilt is mine.” 

“ Let me have the writing then,” murmured the old 
man. 

The physician wiped the perspiration from his forehead 
and gave" the paraschites his hand. “ To-morrow you 
shall have it,” he said, “and I will not leave your grand- 
daughter till she is well again.” 

The soldier engaged in cutting up the ram, had heard 
nothing of this conversation. Now he ran a wooden spit 
through the legs, and held them over the fire to roast 
them. The jackals howled louder as the smell of the melt- 
ing fat filled the air, and the old man, as he looked on, 
forgot the terrible task he had undertaken. For a year 
past, no meat had been tasted in his house. 

* Tlie vignettes of Chapter 125, of the Book of the Dead, represent 
the Last Judgment of the Egyptians. Under a canopy Osiris sits 
enthroned as Chief Judge, forty-two assessors assist him. In the hall 
stand the scales ; the dog-lieaitSd ape, the animal sacred to Toth, 
guides the balance. In one scale lies the heart of the dead man, in 
the other the image of the goddess of Truth, who introduces the 
soul into the hall of justice. Toth writes the record. The soul 
affirms that it has not committed forty -two deadly sins, and if it 
obtains credit, it is named “maa cheru,” i. e., “the truth-speaker,” 
and is therewith declared blessed. It now receives its heart back, and 
grows into a new and divine life. 


VARDA . 


169 


The physician Nebsecht, himself eating nothing but a 
piece of bread, looked on at the feasters. They- tore the 
meat from the bones, and the soldier, especially, devoured 
the costly and unwonted meal like some ravenous animal. 
He could be heard chewing like a horse in the manger, and 
a feeling of disgust filled the physician’s soul. 

“ Sensual beings,” he murmured to himself, “animals 
with consciousness! And yet human beings. Strange! 
They languish bound in the fetters of the world of sense, 
and -yet how much more ardently they desire that which 
transcends sense than we — how much more real it is to 
them than to us!” 

“ Will you have some meat?” cried the soldier, who had 
remarked that Nebsecht’s lips moved, and tearing a piece 
of meat from the bone of the joint he was devouring, he 
held it out to the physiacin. Sebsecht shrank back; the 
greedy look, the glistening teeth, the dark, rough features 
of the man terrified him. And he thought of the white 
and fragile form of the sick girl lying within on the mat, 
and a question escaped his lips. 

“Is the maiden, is Uarda, your own child?” he said. 

The soldier struck himself on the breast. “ So sure as 
king Rameses is the son of Seti,” he answered. 

The men had finished their meal, and the flat cakes of 
bread which the wife of the paraschites gave them, and on 
which they had wiped their hands from the fat, were con- 
sumed, when the soldier, in whose slow brain the phy- 
sician’s question still lingered, said, sighing deeply: 

“ Her mother was a stranger; she laid the white dove in 
the raven’s nest.” 

“Of what country was your wife a native?” asked the 
physician. 

“That I do not know,” replied the soldier. 

“ Did you never inquire about the family of your own 
wife ?” 

“Certainly I did: but how could she have answered me? 
But it is a long and strange story.” 

“Relate it to me,” said Nebsecht, “the night is long, 
and I like listening better than talking. But first I will 
see after our patient.” 

When the physician had satisfied himself that Uarda was 
sleeping quietly and breathing regularly, he seated him- 


UARDA. 


170 

self again by the paraschites and his son, and the soldier 

“It all happened long ago. King Seti still lived, but 
Rameses already reigned in his stead, when I came home 
from the North. They had sent me to the workmen, who 
were building the fortifications in Zoan, the town of 
Rameses.* I was set over six men, Amus,f of the He- 
brew race, over whom Rameses kept such a tight hand.]; 
Among the men there were sons of rich cattle-holders, for 
in levying the people it was never: * What have you?’ but 
‘Of what race are you?' The fortifications and the canal 
which was to join the Nile and the Red Sea had to be com- 
pleted, and the king, to whom be long life, health, and 
prosperity, took the youth of Egypt with him to the wars, 
and left the works to the Am us, who are connected by race 
with his enemies in the east. One lives well in Goshen, 
for it is a fine country, with more than enough of corn 
and grass and vegetables and fish and fowls, and I always 
had of the best, for among my six people were two mothers 
darlings, whose parents sent me many a piece of silver. 
Everyone loves his children, but the Hebrews love them 
more tenderly than other people. We had daily our ap- 
pointed tale of bricks to deliver, and when the sun burnt 
hot, I used to help the lads, and I did more in an hour 
than they did in three, for I am strong and was still’ 
stronger then than I am now. 

“Then came the time when I was relieved. I was 
ordered to return to Thebes, to the prisoners of war who 
were building the great temple of Amon over yonder, and 
as I had brought home some money, and it would take a 
good while to finish the great dwelling of the king of the 
gods, I thought of taking a wife; but no Egyptian. Of 
daughters of paraschites there were plenty; but I wanted 
to get away out of my father’s accursed caste, and the other 
girls here, as I knew, were afraid of our uncleanness. In 
the low country I had done better, and many an Amu and 


*The Rameses of the Bible. Exodus i, 11. 
f Semites. 

f:For an account of the traces of the Jews in Egypt, see Chabas, 
Melanges, and Ebers, iEgypten and die Bucher Moses, also Durcli 
Gosen zum Sinai. 


UARDA, 171 

Schasu woman had gladly come to my tent. From the 
beginning I had set my mind on an Asiatic. 

“Many a time maidens taken prisoners in war were 
brought to be sold, but either they did not please me, or 
they were too dear. Meantime my money melted away, 
for we enjoyed life in the time of rest which followed the 
working hours. There were dancers too in plenty, in the 
foreign quarter. 

“ Well, it was just at the time of the holy feast of Amon- 
Cliem, that a new transport of prisoners of war arrived, 
and among them many women, who were sold publicly 
to the highest bidder. The young and beautiful ones 
were paid for high, but even the older ones were too dear 
for me. 

“Quite at the last a blind woman was led forward, and 
a withered-looking woman who was dumb, as the auction- 
eer, who generally praised up the merits of the prisoners, 
informed the buyers. The blind woman had strong hands, 
and was bought by a tavern-keeper, for whom she turns 
the hand-mill to this day; the dumb woman held a child 
in her arms, and no one could tell whether she was young 
or old. She looked as though she already lay in her coffin, 
and the little one as though he would go under the grass 
before her. And her hair was red, burning red, the very 
color of Typhon. Her white pale face looked neither bad 
nor good, only weary, weary to death. On her withered 
white arms blue veins ran like dark cords, her hands hung 
feebly down, and in them hung the child. If a wind 
were to rise, I thought to myself, it would blow her away 
and the little one with her. 

“ The auctioneer asked for a bid. All were silent, for 
the dumb shadow was of no use for work; she was half- 
dead, and a burial costs money. 

“ So passed several minutes. Then the auctioneer 
stepped up to her, and gave her a blow with his whip, that 
she might rouse herself up, and appear less miserable to the 
buyers. She shivered like a person in a fever, pressed the 
child closer to her, and looked round at every one as 
though seeking for help — and me full in the face. What 
happened now was a real wonder, for her eyes were bigger 
than any that I ever saw, and a demon dwelt in them that 
had power over me and ruled me to the end, and that day 
it bewitched me for the first time. 


UARDA. 


m 

“It was not hot and I had drunk nothing, and yet I 
acted against my own will and 'better judgment when, as 
her eyes fell upon me, I bade all that I possessed in order 
to buy her. I might have had her cheaper! My compan- 
ions laughed at me, the auctioneer shrugged his shoulders 
as he took my money, but I took the child on my arm, 
helped the woman up, carried her in a boat over the Nile, 
loaded a stone-cart with my miserable property, and drove 
her like a block of lime home to the old people. 

“My mother shook her head, and my father looked as 
if he thought me mad; but neither of them said a word. 
They made up a bed for her, and on my spare nights I 
built that ruined thing hard by — it was a tidy hut once. 
Soon my mother grew fond of the child. It was quite 
small, and we called it Pennu,* because it was so pretty, 
like a little mouse. I kept away from the foreign quarter, 
and saved my wages, and bought a goat, which lived in 
fro'nt of our door when I took the woman to her own hut. 

“ She was dumb, but not deaf, only she did not under- 
stand our language; but the demon in her eyes spoke for 
her and understood what I said. She comprehended every- 
thing, and could say everything with her eyes; but best of 
all she knew how to thank one. No high-priest who at the 
great hill festival praises the gods in long hymns for their 
gifts can return thanks so earnestly with his lips as she 
with her dumb eyes. And when she wished to pray, then 
it seemed as though the demon in her look was mightier 
than ever. 

“At first I used to be impatient enough when she leaned 
so feebly against the wall, or when the child cried and 
disturbed my sleep; but she had only to look up, and the 
demon pressed my heart together and persuaded me that 
the crying was really a song. Pennu cried more sweetly 
too than other children, and he had such soft, white, pretty 
little fingers. 

“ One day he had been crying for a long time. At last 
I bent down over him, and was going to scold him, but 
he seized me by the beard. It was pretty to see! After- 
ward he was forever wanting to pull me about, and his 
mother noticed that that pleased me, for when I brought 

*Pennu is the name for the mouse in old Egyptian. 


UARDA. 


173 


home anything good, an egg or a flower or a cake, she 
used to hold him up and place his little hands on my 
beard . 

“ Yes, in a few months the woman had learned to hold 
him up high in her arms, for with care and quiet she had 
grown stronger. White she always remained and delicate, 
but she grew younger and more beautiful from day to 
day; she could hardly have numbered twenty years when I 
bought her. What she was called I never heard; nor did 
we give her any name. She was 4 the woman/ and so we 
called her. 

“ Eight moons passed by, and then the little mouse died. 

I wept as she did, and as I bent over the corpse and let 
my tears have free course, and thought — now he can never 
lift up his pretty little finger to you again; then I felt for 
the first time the woman's soft hand on my cheek. She 
stroked my rough beard as a child might, and with that 
looked at me so gratefully that I felt as though King 
Pharaoh had all at once made me a present of both Upper ' 
and Lower Egypt. 

“ When the Mouse was buried she got weaker again, but 
my mother took good care of her. I lived with her, like a 
father with his child. She was always friendly, but if I 
approached her, and tried to show her any fondness, she 
would look at me, and the demon in her eyes drove me 
back, and I let her alone. 

“ She drew healthier and stronger and more and more 
beautiful, so beautiful that I kept her hidden, and was 
consumed by the longing to make her my wife. A good 
housewife she never became, to be sure; her hands were so 
tender, and she did not even know how to milk the goat. 
My mother did that and everything else for her. 

“ In the daytime she stayed in her hut and worked, for 
she was very skillful at woman's work, and wove lace as fine 
as cobwebs, which mv mother sold that she might bring 
home perfumes with the proceeds. She was very fond of 
them, and of flowers too; and Uarda in there takes after 
her. 

“ In the evening, when the folks from the other side 
had left the City of .the Dead, she would often walk up 
and down the valley here, thoughtful, and often looking up 
at the moon, which she was especially fond of, 


174 


UARDA. 


\ 

“ One evening in the winter-time I came home. It was 
already dark, and I expected to find her in front of the 
door. All at once, about a hundred steps behind old 
Ilekt’s cave, I heard a troop of jackals barking so furiously 
that I said to myself directly they had attacked a human 
being, and I knew too ivho it was, though no one had told 
me, and the woman could not call or cry out. Frantic 
with terror, I tore a firebrand from the hearth and the 
stake to which the goat was fastened out of the ground, 
rushed to her help, drove away the beasts, and carried her 
back senseless to the hut. My mother helped me, and we 
called her back to life. When we were alone, I wept like 
a child for joy at her escape, and she let me kiss her, and 
then she became my wife, three years after I had bought 
her. 

“She bore me a little maid, that she herself named 
Uarda; for she showed us a rose, and then pointed to the 
child, and we understood her without words. 

“ Soon afterward she died. 

“ You are a priest, but I tell you that when I am sum- 
moned before Osiris, if I am admitted among the blessed, 
I will ask whether I shall meet my wife, and if the door- 
keeper says no, he may thrust me back, and I will go 
down cheerfully to the damned, if I find her again there.” 

“ And did no sign ever betray her origin?” asked the 
physician. 

The soldier had hidden his face in his hands; he was 
weeping aloud, and did not hear the question. But the 
paraschites answered: 

“ She was the child of some great personage, for in her 
clothes we found a golden jewel with a precious stone in- 
scribed with strange characters. It is very costly, and my 
wife is keeping it for the little one.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 

In the earliest glimmer of dawn the following day, the 
physician Nebsecht, having satisfied himself as to the state 
of the sick girl, left the paraschites’ hut and made his 
way in the deepest thought to the terrace - temple of 
Hatasu, to find his friend Pentaur and compose the writ- 
ing which he had promised to the old man. 


UARDA. 


175 


As the sun rose in radiance he reached the sanctuary, 
lie expected to hear the morning song of the priests, but 
all was silent. He knocked, and the porter, still half- 
asleep, opened the door. 

Nebsecht inquired for the chief of the temple. 

“ He died in the night/-’ said the man, yawning. 

“ What do you say?” cried the physician, in sudden 
terror, “ who is dead?” 

“Our good old chief. Rui.” 

Nebsecht breathed again, and asked for Pentaur. 

“You belong to the House of Seti,” said the door- 
keeper, “ and you do not know that he is deposed from 
his office? The holy fathers have refused to celebrate the 
birth of Ra with him. He sings for himself now, alone up 
on the watch-tower. There you will find him.” 

Nebsecht strode quickly up the stairs. Several of the 
priests placed themselves together in groups as soon as they 
saw him, and began singing. He paid no heed to them, 
however, but hastened on to the uppermost terrace, where 
he found his friend occupied in writing. 

Soon he learned all that had happened, and wrathfully 
he cried: “ You are too honest for those wise gentlemen 
in the House of Seti, and too pure and zealous for the 
rabble here. I knew it, I knew what would come of it if 
they introduced you to the mysteries. For us initiated 
there remains only the choice between lying and silence.” 

“ The old error!” said Pentaur, “ we know that the God- 
head is One, we name it, ‘ The All/* 4 The Veil of the 

*The sacred text repeatedly calls God the “ One,” the “ only One.” 
The pantheistic teaching of the Mysteries is most clearly expressed 
in those texts which are found in almost all the Kings’ tombs in 
Thebfes, and on the walls of the entrance halls. They have been 
collected, and contain praises to Ra, whose seventy-five principal 
manifestations are invoked. These texts and the pantheism, in the 
esoteric teaching of the Egyptians, are excellently and comprehen- 
sively treated by E. Naville in “ La Litanie du Soleil.” The text of 
the Book of Death, the Hymn to the Sun preserved at Bulaq, and 
treated by Stern and Grebaut, the. inscriptions on the sarcophagi and 
on the walls of the Temple of Ptolemy, and second in order to these, 
Plutarch’s Treatise on Isis and Osiris, the Egyptian Mysteries of Jam- 
blichus, and the Discourse of Hermes Trismegistus on the Human 
Soul, are the principal sources for the study of the secret teaching of 
the Egyptians. The views brought forward and developed in these 
discourses seem first to have come to perfection in the new kingdom. 
The Egyptian religion proceeded from a comparatively rude Sun and 
Nile worship. 


176 


UARDA. 


All/ or simply ‘Ra.’ But under the name Ra we under- 
stand something different than is known to the common 
herd; for to us, the Universe is God, and in each of its 
parts we recognize a manifestation of that highest being 
without whom nothing is, in the heights above or in the 
depths below.” 

“ To me yon can say everything, for I also am initiated,” 
interrupted Nebsecht. 

“ But neither from the laity do I withhold it,” cried 
Pentaur, only to those who are incapable of understanding 
the whole, do I show the different parts. Am I a liar if I 
do not say, ‘ I speak/ but ‘ my mouth speaks/ if I affirm, 
‘ Your eye sees/ when it is you yourself who are the seers? 
When the light of the only One manifests itself, then 1 
fervently render thanks to Him in hymns, and the most 
luminous of his forms I name Ra. When I look upon 
yonder green fields, I call upon the faithful to give thanks 
to Rennut,* that is, that active manifestation of the One, 
through which the corn attains to its ripe maturity. Am 
I filled with wonder at the bounteous gifts with which that 
divine stream whose origin is hidden, blesses our land, then 
I adore the One as the God Hapi,f the secret one. Whether 
we view the sun, the harvest, or the Nile, whether we con- 
template with admiration the unity and harmony of the 
visible or invisible world, still it is always with the Only, 
the All-embracing One we have to do, to whom we also 
ourselves belong as those of his manifestations in which he 
places his self-consciousness. The imagination of the 
multitude is limited ” 

“ And so we lions, J give them the morsel that we can 
devour at one gulp, finely chopped up, and diluted with 
broth as if for the weak stomach of a sick man.” 

“ Not so ; we only feel it our duty to temper and 
sweeten the sharp potion, which for men even is almost 
too strong, before we offer it to the children, the babes in 
spirit. The sages of old veiled indeed the highest truths 

* Goddess of tlie harvest. 

f The Nile. 

X “ The priests,” says Clement of Alexandria, “allow none to be 
participators in their mysteries, except kings or such among them- 
selves as are distinguished for virtue or wisdom.” The same thing 
is shown by the monuments in many places. 


UARDA. 


177 


in allegorical forms, in symbols, and finally in a beautiful 
and richly-colored mythos, but they brought them near to 
the multitude, shrouded it is true but still discernible.” 

“ Descernible?” said the physician, “ discernible? Whv 
then the veil?” 

“And do you imagine that the multitude could look the 
naked truth in the face,* and not despair?” 

“Can I, can any one who looks straight forward, and 
strives to see the truth and nothing but the truth?” cried 
the physician. “ We both of us know that things only 
are, to us, such as they picture themselves in the prepared 
mirror of our souls. I see gray, gray, and white, white, 
and have accustomed myself in my yearning after knowl- 
edge, not to attribute the smallest part to my own idiosyn- 
crasy, if such indeed there be existing in my empty breast. 
You look straight onward as I do, but in you each idea is 
transfigured, for in your soul invisible shaping powers are 
at work, which set the crooked straight, clothe the common- 
place with charm, the repulsive with beauty. You are a 
poet, an artist; I only seek for truth.” 

“ Only?” said Pentaur, “it is just on account of that 
effort that 1 esteem you so highly, and, as you already 
know, I also desire nothing but the truth.” 

“I know, I know,” said the physician, nodding, “but 
our ways run side by side without ever touching, and our 
final goal is the reading of a riddle, of which there are 
many solutions. You believe yourself to have found the 
right one, and perhaps none exists.” 

“ Then let us content ourselves with the nearest and the 
most beautiful,” said Pentaur. 

“The most beautiful?” cried Nebsecht indignantly. 
“Is that monster, whom you call God, beautiful — the giant 
who forever regenerates himself that he may devour him- 
self again? God is the All, you say, who suffices to him- 
self. Eternal he is and shall be, because all that goes forth 
from him is absorbed by him again, and the great niggard 
bestows no grain of sand, no ray of light, no breath of wind, 
without reclaiming it for his household, which is ruled by 
no design, no reason, no goodness, but by a tyrannical 

* In Sais the statue of Athene (Neith) has the following inscription: 
“lam the All, the Past, the Present, and the Future, my veil has np 
mortal yet lifted,” 


178 


UARDA. 


necessity, whose slave he himself is. The coward hides 
behind the cloud of incomprehensibility, and can be revealed 
only by himself— I would I could strip him of the veil! 
Thus I see the thing that you call God!” 

“A ghastly picture,” said Pentaur, “because you forget 
that we recognize reason to be the essence of the All, the 
penetrating and moving power of the universe which is 
manifested in the harmonious working together of its 
parts, and in ourselves also, since we are formed out of its 
substance, and inspired with its soul.” 

“ Is the warfare of life in any way reasonable?” asked 
Nebsecht. “Is this eternal destruction in order to build 
up again especially well-designed and wise? And with this 
introduction of reason into the All, you provide yourself 
with a self-devised ruler, who terribly resembles the 
gracious masters and mistresses that you exhibit to the 
people.” 

“Only apparently,” answered Pentaur, “only because 
that which transcends sense is communicable through the 
medium of the senses alone. When God manifests himself 
as the wisdom of the world, we call him ‘ the Word/ ‘ He, 
who covers his limbs with names/* as the sacred text ex- 
presses itself, is the power which gives to things their dis- 
tinctive forms; the scarabseus *' which enters life as its own 
son *f reminds us of the ever self-renewing creative power 
which causes you to call our merciful and benevolent God 
a monster, but which you can deny as little as you can the 
happy choice of the type; for, as you know, there are only 
male scarabei, and this animal reproduces itself.” 

Nebsecht smiled. “ If all the doctrines of the mys- 
teries,” he said, “ have no more truth than this happily 
chosen image, they are in a bad way. These beetles have 
for -years been my friends and companions. I know their 
family life, and I can assure you that there are males and 
females among them as among cats, apes, and human be- 
ings.- Your ‘good God* I do not know, and what I least 
comprehend in thinking it over quietly is the circumstance 
that you distinguish a good and evil principle in the 


* From inscriptions at Abydos, and the Praises of Ra at Biban el 
Muluk. 

f From the same Texts, 


UARDA. 


179 


world. If the All is indeed God, if God, as the script- 
ures teach, is goodness, and if besides Him is nothing at 
all, where is a place to be found for evil?” 

“ You talk like a school-boy,” said Pentaur indignantly. 
“ All that is, is good and reasonable in itself, but the in- 
finite One, who prescribes his own laws and his own paths, 
grants to the finite its continuance through continual 
renewal, and in the changing forms of the finite progresses 
for evermore. What we call evil, darkness, wickedness, is 
in itself divine, good, reasonable, and clear; but it ap- 
pears in another light to our clouded minds, because we 
perceive the way only and not the goal, the details only, 
and not the whole. Even so, superficial listeners blame 
the music, in which a discord is heard, while the harper 
has only evoked from the strings that his hearers may 
more deeply feel the purity of the succeeding harmony; 
even so, a fool blames the painter who has colored his 
board with black, and does not wait for the completion of 
the picture which shall be thrown into clearer relief by the 
dark background; even so, a child chides the noble tree, 
whose fruit rots, that a new’ life may spring up from its 
kernel. Apparent evil is but an ante-chamber to higher 
bliss, as every sunset is but veiled by night, and will soon 
show itself again as the red dawn of a new day.” 

“ How convincing all that sounds!” answered the physi- 
cian, “ all, even the terrible, wins charm from your lips; but 
I could invert your proposition, and declare that it is evil 
that rules the world, and sometimes gives us one drop of 
sweet content, in order that we may more keenly feel the 
bitterness of life. You see harmony and goodness in 
everything. I have observed that passion awakens life, 
that all existence is a conflict, that one being devours 
another/’ 

“ And do you not feel the beauty of visible creation, and 
does not the immutable law in everything fill you with 
admiration and humility?” 

“ For beauty,” replied Nebsecht, “ I have never sought; 
the organ is somehow wanting in me to understand 
it of myself, though I willingly allow you to mediate 
between us. But of law in nature I fully appreciate the 
worth, for that is the veritable soul of the universe. You 
call the One 4 Temt/ that is to say, the total — the unity 


UABDA . 


180 

which is reached by the addition of many units; and that 
pleases me, for the elements of the universe and the 
powers which prescribe the paths of life are strictly de- 
fined by measure and number — but irrespective of beauty 
or benevolence. ” 

“ Such views,” cried Pentaur, troubled, “ are the result 
of your strange studies. You kill and destroy, in order, 
as vou yourself say, to come upon the track of the secrets 
of life. Look out upon nature, develop the faculty which 
you declare to be wanting in you, and the beauty of crea- 
tion will teach you without my assistance that you are 
praying to a false god.” 

“1 do not pray,” said Nebsecht, “for the law which 
moves the world is as little affected by prayers as the 
current of the sands in your hour-glass. Who tells you 
that I do not seek to come upon the track of the first be- 
ginning of things? I proved to you just now that I know 
more about the origin of scarabei than you do. I have 
killed many an animal, not only to study its organism, 
but also to investigate how it has built up its form. But 
precisely in this work my organ for beauty has become 
blunt rather than keen. I tell you that the beginning of 
things is not more attractive to contemplate than their 
death and decomposition.” 

Pentaur looked at the physician inquiringly. 

“I also for once,” continued Nebsecht, “ will speak in 
figures. Look at this wine, how pure it is, how fragrant; 
and yet it was trodden from the grape by the brawny feet 
of the vintagers. And those full ears of corn! They 
gleam golden yellow, and will yield us snow-white meal 
when they are ground, and yet they grew from a rotting 
seed. Lately you were praising to me the beauty of the 
great Hall of Columns nearly completed in the temple of 
Ammon* over yonder in Thebes. How posterity will 
admire it! I saw that hall arise. There lay masses of free- 
stone in wild confusion, dust in heaps that took away my 
breath, and three months since I was sent over there, because 
above a hundred workmen engaged in stone-polishing under 
the burning sun had been beaten to death. Were I a poet 

* Begun by Rameses I, continued by Seti I K completed by Rameses 
II. The remains of this immense hall, with its one hundred and 
thirty-four columns, have not their equal in the world, 


UAKDA. 


181 


like you, I would show you a hundred similar pictures, in 
which you would not find much beauty. In the mean- 
time, we have enough to do in observing the existing order 
of things, and investigating the laws by which it is 
governed.” 

“ I have never clearly understood your efforts, and have 
difficulty in comprehending why you did not turn to the 
science of the haruspiees,” said Pentaur. “ Do you then be- 
lieve that the changing, and — owing to the conditions by 
which they are surrounded — the dependent life of plants 
and animals is governed by law, rule, and numbers like 
the movement of the stars?” 

“What a question! Is the strong and mighty hand, 
which compels yonder heavenly bodies to roll onward in 
their carefully appointed orbits, not delicate enough to 
prescribe the conditions of the flight of the bird, and the 
beating of the human heart?” 

“ There we are again with the heart,” said the poet, 
smiling, “ are you any nearer your aim?” 

The physician became very grave. “Perhaps to-morrow 
even,” lie said, “ I may have what I need. You have your 
palette there with red and black color, and a writing reed. 
May I use this sheet of papyrus?” 

“ Of course; but first tell me ” 

“Do not ask; you would not approve of my scheme, 
and there would only be a fresh dispute.” 

“ I think,” said the poet, laying his hand on his friend's 
shoulder, “ that we have no reason to fear disputes. So 
far they have been the cement, the refreshing dew of our 
friendship.” 

“ So long as they treated of ideas only, and not of 
deeds.” 

“You intend to get possession of a human heart!” cried 
the poet. “ Think of what you are doing! The heart is 
the vessel of that effluence of the universal soul, which lives 
in us.” 

“ Are you so sure of that?” cried the physician, with some 
irritation, “ then give me the proof. Have you ever ex- 
amined a heart, has anyone member of my profession done 
so? The hearts of criminals and prisoners of war even are 
declared sacred from touch, and when we stand helpless by 
a patient, and see our medicines work harm as often as 


182 


VARDA. 


good, why is it? Only because we physicians are expected 
to work as blindly as an astronomer, if he were required to 
look at the stars through a board. At Heliopolis I 
entreated the great Urma* Kahotep, the truly learned chief • 
of our craft, and who held me in esteem, to allow me to 
examine the heart of a dead Amu; but he refused me, 
because the great Sechetf leads virtuous Semites also 
into the fields of the blessed. And then followed all the 
old scruples; that to cut up the heart of a beast even is 
sinful, because it also is the vehicle of a soul, perhaps a con- 
demned and miserable human soul, which before it can return 
to the One, must undergo purification by passing through 
the bodies of animals. I was not satisfied, and declared to. 
him that my great-grandfather Nebsecht, before he wrote 
his treatise on the heart , \ must certainly have examined such 
an organ. Then he answered me that the divinity had 
revealed to him what he had written, and therefore his 
work had been accepted among the sacred writings of 
Toth, which stood fast and unassailable as the laws of the 
world; he wished to give me peace for quiet work, and I also, 
he said, might be a chosen spirit — the divinity might per- 
haps vouchsafe revelations to me too. I was young at that 
time, and spent my nights in prayer, but I only wasted 
away, and my spirit grew darker instead of clearer. Then 
I killed in secret — first a fowl, then rats, then a rabbit, and 
cut up their hearts, and followed the vessels that lead out 
of them, and know little more now than I did at first; but 
I must get to the bottom of the truth, and I must have a 
human heart.” 

“ What will that do for you?” asked Pentaur; “ you can- 
not hope to perceive the invisible and the infinite with your 
human eyes.” 

“Do you know my great-grandfather’s treatise?” 

“A little,” answered the poet; “ he said that wherever 
he laid his finger, whether on the head, the hands, or 
the stomach, he everywhere met with the heart, because 
its vessels go into all the members, and the heart is the 


* High-priest of Heliopolis, 
f Tlie lion-lieaded goddess. 

\ This treatise forms the most interesting section of the papyrus 
Ebers. Published by W. Engelmann, Leipzig. 


UARDA. 


183 


meeting point of all these vessels. Then Nebsecht pro- 
ceeds to state how these are distributed in the different 
members, and shows — is it not so? — that the various mental 
states, such as auger, grief, aversion, and also the ordinary 
use of the word heart, declare entirely for his view/’ 

“That is it. We have already discussed it, and I be- 
lieve that he is right, so far as the blood is concerned, and 
the animal sensations. But the pure and luminous intelli- 
gence in us — that has another seat,” and the physician 
struck his broad but low forehead with his hand. “ I have 
observed heads by the hundred down at the place of exe- 
cution, and I have also removed the top of the skulls of 
living animals. But now let me write, before we are 
disturbed.” * 

The physician took the reed, moistened it with black 
color prepared from burnt papyrus, and in elegant hieratic 
characters f wrote the paper for the paraschites, in which 
he confessed to having impelled him to the theft of a heart, 
and in the most binding manner declared himself willing 
to take the old man’s guilt upon himself before Osiris and 
the judges of the dead. 

When he had finished, Pentaur held out his hand for 
the paper, but Nebsecht folded it together, placed it in a 
little bag in which lay an amulet that his dying mother 
had hung round his neck, and said, breathing deeply: 

* Human brains are prescribed for a malady of tbe eyes in the 
Ebers papyrus. Heropliilus, one of tbe first scholars of the 
Alexandrine Museum, studied not only the bodies of executed 
criminals, but mude his experiments also on living malefactors. He 
maintained that the four cavities of the human brain are the seat of 
the soul. 

\ At the time of our narrative the Egyptians had two kinds of 
writing — the hieroglyphic, which was generally used for monu- 
mental inscriptions, and in which the letters consisted of conventional 
representations of various objects, mathematical and arbitrary sym- 
bols, and the hieratic, used for writing on papyrus, and in which, 
with the view of saving time, the written pictures underwent so 
many alterations and abbreviations that the originals could hardly be 
recognized. In the eighth century there was a further abridgment 
of the hieratic writing, which was called the demotic, or people’s 
writing, and was used in commerce. While the hieroglyphic and 
hieratic writings laid the foundations of the old sacred dialect, the 
demotic letters were only used to write the spoken language of the 
people. E. de Rouge’s Chrestomathie figyptienne. H. Brugsch’s 
Hieroglyphische Grammatik. Le Page Renouf’s shorter hieroglyph- 
ical grammar. 


184 


XJARDA. 


“ That is done. Farewell, Pentaur.” 

But the poet held the physician back; he spoke to him 
with the warmest words, and conjured him to abandon his 
enterprise. His prayers, however, had no power to touch 
Nebsecht, who only strove forcibly to disengage his finger 
from Pentaur’s strong hand, which held him as in a clasp 
of iron. The excited poet did not remark that he was 
hurting his friend, until after a new and vain attempt at 
freeing himself, Yebsecht cried out in pain, “ You are 
crushing my finger!” 

A smile passed over the poet’s face, he loosened his hold 
on the physician, and stroked the reddened hand like a 
mother who strives to divert her child from pain. 

“ Don’t be angry with me, Nebsecht,” he said, “you 
know my unlucky fists, and to-day they really ought to 
hold you fast, for you have too mad a purpose on hand.” 

“ Mad?” said the physician, while he smiled in his turn. 
“ It may be so; but do you not know that we Egyptians all 
have a peculiar tenderness for our follies, and are ready to 
sacrifice house and laud to them ?” 

“ Our own house and our own land,” cried the poet: and 
then added seriously, “ but not the existence, not the hap- 
piness of another.” 

“Have I not told you that I do not look upon the heart 
as the seat of our intelligence? So far as I am concerned, 
I would as soon be buried with a ram’s heart as with my 
own.” 

“ I do not speak of the plundered dead, but of the 
living,” said the poet. “If the deed of the paraschites is 
discovered, he is undone, and you would only have saved 
that sweet child in the hut behind there, to fling her into 
deeper misery.” 

Nebsecht looked at the other with as much astonishment 
and dismay as if he had been awakened from sleep by bad 
tidings. Then he cried: “All that I have, I would share 
with the old man and Uarda.” 

“And who would protect her?” 

“ Her father.” 

“ That rough drunkard who to-morrow or the day after 
may be sent no one knows where.” 

“ lie is a good fellow,” said the physician, interrupting 
his friend, and stammering violently. “ But who would 


UARDA. 185 

do anything to the child? She is so— so She is so 

charming, so perfectly sweet and lovely.” 

With these last words he cast down his eyes and reddened 
like a girl. 

“You understand that,” he said, “ better than I do; yes, 
and you also think her beautiful! Strange! you must not 
laugh if I confess — I am but a man like every one else — 
when I confess, that I believe I have at length discovered in 
myself the missing organ for beauty of form — not believe 
merely, but truly have discovered it, for it has not only 
spoken, but cried, raged, till I felt a rushing in my ears, 
and for the first time was attracted more by the sufferer 
than by suffering. I have sat in the hut as though spell- 
bound, and gazed at her hair, at her eyes, at how she 
breathed. They must long since have missed me at the 
House of Seti, perhaps discovered all my preparations, when 
seeking me in my room! For two days and nights I have 
allowed myself to be drawn* away from my work, for the 
sake of this child. Were I one of the laity, whom 
you would approach, I should say that demons had 
bewitched me. But it is not that ” — and with these words 
the physician's eyes flamed up — “it is not that! The 
animal in me, the low instincts of which the heart is the 
organ, and which swelled my breast at her bedside, they 
have mastered the pure and fine emotions here — here in 
this brain; and in the very moment when I hoped to know 
as the God knows whom you call the Prince of knowledge, 
in that moment I must learn that the animal in me is 
stronger than that which I call my God.” 

The physician, agitated and excited, had fixed his eyes 
on the ground during these last words, and hardly noticed 
the poet, who listened to him wondering and full of sym- 
pathy. For a time both were silent; then Pentaur laid his 
hand on his friend's hand, and said cordially: 

“ My soul is no stranger to what you feel, and heart and 
head, if I may use your own words, have known a like emo- 
tion. But I know that what we feel, although it may be 
foreign to our usual sensations, is loftier and more precious 
than these, not lower. Not the animal, Nebsecht, is it 
that you feel in yourself, but God. Goodness is the most 
beautiful attribute of the divine, and you have always been 
well-disposed toward great and small; but I ask you, have 


186 


TJARDA. 


you ever before felt so irresistibly impelled to pour out an 
ocean of goodness on another being, whether for Uarda 
you would not more joyfully and more self-forgetfully 
sacrifice all that you have, and all that you are, than to 
father and mother and your oldest friend?” 

Nebsecht nodded assentingly. 

“ Well then,” cried Pentaur, “ follow your new and god- 
like emotion, be good to Uarda and do not sacrifice her to 
your vain wishes. My poor friend! With your inquiries 
into the secrets of life, you have never looked round upon 
life itself, which spreads open and inviting before our eyes. 
Do you imagine that the maiden who can thus inflame the 
calmest thinker in Thebes, will not be coveted by a 
hundred of the common herd when her protector fails her? 
Need I tell you that among the dancers in the foreign 
quarter nine out of ten are the daughters of outlawed 
parents? Can you endure the thought that by your hand 
innocence may be consigned to vice, the rose trodden 
under foot in the mud? Is the human heart that you de- 
sire worth an Uarda? Now go, and to-morrow come 
again to me, your friend who understands how to sympa- 
thize with all you feel, and to whom you have approached 
so much the nearer to-day that you have learned to share 
his purest happiness.” 

Pentaur held out his hand to the physician, who held it 
some time, then went thoughtfully and lingeringly, un- 
mindful of the burning glow of the midday sun, over the 
mountain into the valley of the king’s graves toward the 
hut of the paraschites. 

Here he found the soldier with his daughter. “ Where 
is the old man?” he asked anxiously. 

“ He has gone to his work in the house of the em- 
balmer,” was the answer. “If anything should happen 
to him he bade me tell you not to forget the writing 
and the book. He was as though out of his mind when 
he left us, and put the ram’s heart in his bag and took it 
with him. Do you remain with the little one; my mother 
is at work, and I must go with the prisoners of war to 
Harmontis.”* 


* Tlie Erment of to-day, the nearest town to the south of Thebes, 
at a day’s journey from that city. 


UAUDA. 


187 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

While the two friends from the House of Seti were en- 
gaged in conversation, Katuti restlessly paced the large 
open hall of her son-in-law's house, in which we have al- 
ready seen her. A snow-white cat followed her steps, now 
playing with the hem of her long plain dress, and now 
turning to a large stand on which the dwarf Nemu sat in 
a heap, where formerly a silver statue had stood, which 
a few months previously had been sold. 

He liked this place, for it put him in a position to look 
into the eyes of his mistress and other full-grown people. 

“ If you have betrayed me! If you have deceived me!" 
said Katuti, with a threatening gesture as she passed his 
perch. 

“ Put me on a hook to angle for a crocodile, if I have. 
But I am curious to know how he will offer you the 
money." 

“You swore to me," interrupted his mistress, with fever- 
ish agitation, “ that you had not used my name in asking 
Paaker to save us?" 

“ A thousand times I swear it," said the little man. 
“Shall I repeat all our conversation? I tell thee he will 
sacrifice his land, and his house — great gate and all, for 
one friendly glance from Nefert’s eyes." 

“ If only Mena loved her as he does!" sighed the widow, 
and then again she walked up and down the hall in silence, 
while the dwarf looked out at the garden entrance. Sud- 
denly she paused in front of Nemu, and said so hoarsely 
that Nemu shuddered: 

“I wish she were a widow." 

The little man made a gesture as if to protect himself 
from the evil eye, but at the same instant he slipped down 
from his pedestal, and exclaimed : 

“ There is a chariot, and I hear his big dog barking. It 
is he. Shall I call Nefert?" 

“No !" said Katuti, in a low voice, and she clutched at 
the back of a chair as if for support. 

The dwarf shrugged his shoulders, and slunk behind a 
clump of ornamental plants, and a few minutes later 


188 


UARDA. 


Paaker stood in the presence of Katuti, who greeted him 
with quiet dignity and self-possession. 

Not a feature of her finely-cut face betrayed her inward 
agitation, and after the Mohar had greeted her she said 
with rather patronizing friendliness: 

“ I thought that you would come. Take a seat. Your 
heart is like your father’s; now that you are friends with 
us again it is not by halves.” 

Paaker had come to offer his aunt the sum which was 
necessary for the redemption of her husband’s mummy. 
He had doubted for a long time whether he should not 
leave this to his mother, but reserve partly and partly 
vanity had kept him from doing so. 

He would have preferred to send the gold, which he had 
resolved to give away, by the hand of one of his slaves, like 
a tributary prince. But that could not be done; so he 
put on his finger a ring set with a valuable stone, which 
King Seti had given to his late father, and added various 
clasps and bracelets to his dress. 

When, before leaving the house, he looked at himself in 
a mirror, he said to himself, with some satisfaction, that he, 
as he stood, was worth as much as the whole of Mena’s 
estates. 

Since his conversation with Nemu, and the dwarf’s in- 
terpretation of his dream, the path which he must tread 
to reach his aim had been plain before him. Nefert’s 
mother must be won with the gold which would save her 
from disgrace, and Mena must be sent to the other world. 
He relied chiefly on his own reckless obstinacy — which 
he liked to call firm determination — Nemu’s cunning, and 
the love-philter. 

He now approached Katuti with the certainty of suc- 
cess, like a merchant who means to acquire some costly 
object, and feels that he is rich enough to pay for it. But 
his aunt’s proud and dignified manner confounded him. 

He had pictured her quite otherwise, spirit-broken, and 
suppliant ; and he had expected, and hoped to earn, 
Nefert’s thanks as well as her mother’s by his generosity. 
Mena’s pretty wife was however absent; and Katuti did 
not send for her even after he had inquired after her 
health. 

The widow made no advances, and some time passed 


UARDA. 


189 


in indifferent conversation, till Paaker abruptly informed 
her that he had heard of her son’s reckless conduct, and 
had decided, as being his mother’s nearest relation, to pre- 
serve her from the degradation that threatened her. For 
the sake of his bluntness, which she took for honesty, 
Katuti forgave the magnificence of his dress, which under 
the circumstances certainly seemed ill-cliosen; she thanked 
him with dignity, but warmly, more for the sake of her 
children than for her own; for life, she said, was opening 
before them, while for her it was drawing to its close. 

“You are still at a good time of life,”, said Paaker. 

“Perhaps at the best,” replied the widow; “at any rate 
from my point of view; regarding life as I do as a charge, 
a heavy responsibility.” 

“ The administration of this involved estate must give 
you many anxious hours — that I understand.” 

Katuti nodded, and then said sadly: 

“ I could bear it all, if I were not condemned to see my 
poor child being brought to misery without being able to 
help her or advise her. You once would willingly have 
married her, and I ask you, was there a maiden in 
Thebes — nay in all Egypt — to compare with her for 
beauty? Was she not worthy to be loved, and is she not 
so still? Does she deserve that her husband should leave 
her to starve, neglect her, and take a strange woman into 
his tent as if he had repudiated her? I see what you feel 
about it! You throw all the blame on me. Your heart 
says: ‘ Why did she break off our betrothal/ and your 
right feeling tells you that you would have given her a 
happier lot.” 

With these words Katuti took her nephew’s hand, and 
went on with increasing warmth. 

“ We know you to-day for the most magnanimous man 
in Thebes, for you have requited injustice with an immense 
benefaction; but even as a boy you were kind and noble. 
Your father’s wish has always been dear and sacred to me, 
for during his lifetime he always behaved to us as an affec- 
tionate brother, and I would sooner have sown the seeds of 
sorrow for myself than for your mother, my beloved sister. 
I brought up my child — I guarded her jealously — for the 
young hero who was absent, proving his valor in Syria — 
for you and for you only. Then your father died, my sole 
stay and protector.” 


190 


UARDA. 


“ I know it all !” interrupted Paaker, looking gloomily at 
the floor. 

“Who should have told you?” said the widow. “For 
your mother, when that had happened which seemed in- 
credible, forbid us her house, and shut her ears. The 
king himself urged Mena’s suit, for he loves him as his own 
son, and when I represented your prior claim he com- 
manded — and who may resist the commands of the sover- 
eign of two worlds, the Son of Ea? Kings have short 
memories ; how often did your father hazard his life 
for him, how many wounds had he received in his service? 
For your father’s sake he might have spared you such an 
affront, and such pain.” 

“And have I myself served him, or not?” asked the 
pioneer, flushing darkly. 

“ He knows you less,” returned Katuti, apologetically. 
Then she changed her tone to one of sympathy, and went 
on: 

“ How was it that you, young as you were, aroused his 
dissatisfaction, his dislike, nay his ” 

“ His what?” asked the pioneer, trembling with excite- 
ment. 

“Let that pass!” said the widow, soothingly. “The 
favor and disfavor of kings are those of the gods. Men 
rejoice in the one or bow to the other.” 

“ What feeling have I aroused in Kameses beside dis- 
satisfaction and dislike? I insist on knowing!” said Paaker, 
with increasing vehemence. 

“ You alarm me,” the widow declared. “ And in speak- 
ing ill of you, his only motive was to raise his favorite iu 
Nefert’s estimation.” 

“Tell me what he said!” cried the pioneer; cold drops 
stood on his brown forehead, and his glaring eyes showed 
the white eyeballs. 

Katuti quailed before him, and drew back, but he fol- 
lowed her, seized her arm, and said huskily: 

“ What did he say?” 

“ Paaker!” cried the widow in pain and indignation. 
“ Let me go. It is better for you that I should not repeat 
the words with which Rameses sought to turn Nefert’s 
heart from you. Let me go, and remember to whom you 
are speaking.” 


UARDA. 


191 


But Paaker gripped her elbow the tighter, and urgently 
repeated his question. 

‘‘Shame upon you!” cried Katuti, “you are hurting me; 
let me go! You will not till you have heard what he said? 
Have your own way then, but the words are forced from 
me! He said that if he did not know your mother Setchem 
for an honest woman, he never would have believed you 
were your father’s son — for you were no more like him 
than an owl to an eagle.” 

Paaker took his hand from Katuti’s arm. “And so — 
and so ” he muttered with pale lips. 

“ Nefert took your part, and I too, but in vain. Do 
not take the words too hardly. Your father was a man 
without an equal, and Rameses cannot forget that we are 
related to the old royal house. His grandfather, his 
father, and himself are usurpers, and there is one now 
living who has a better right to the throne than he has.” 

“ The Regent Ani!” exclaimed Paaker, decisively. 

Katuti nodded, she went up to the pioneer and said in 
a whisper: 

“ I put myself in your hands, though I know they may 
be raised against me. But you are my natural ally, for 
that same act of Rameses that disgraced" and injured you, 
made me a partner in the designs of Ani. The king 
robbed you of your bride, me of my daughter. He filled 
your soul with hatred for your arrogant rival, and mine with 
passionate regret for the lost happiness of my child. I feel 
the blood of Hatasu in my veins, and my spirit is high 
enough to govern men. It was I who roused the sleeping 
ambition of the regent — I who directed his gaze to the 
throne to which he was destined by the gods. The minis- 
ters of the gods, the priests, are favorably disposed to us; 
we have ” 

At this moment there was a commotion in the garden, 
and a breathless slave rushed in, exclaiming: 

“ The regent is at the gate!” 

Paaker stood in stupid perplexity, but he collected 
himself with an effort and would have gone, but Katuti 
detained him. 

“ I will go forward to meet Ani,” she said. “He will 
be rejoiced to see you, for he esteems you highly, and was 
a friend of your father’s.” 


192 


UARDA. 


As soon as Katuti had left the hall, the dwarf Nemu 
crept out of his hiding-place, placed himself in front of 
Paaker, and asked, boldly: 

“Well? Did I give thee good advice yesterday, or 
no ?” 

But Paaker did not answer him; he pushed him aside 
with his foot, and walked up and down in deep thought. 

Katuti met the regent half way down the garden. He 
held a manuscript roll in his hand, and greeted her from 
afar with a friendly wave of his hand. 

The widow looked at him with astonishment. 

It seemed to her that he had grown taller and younger 
since the last time she had seen him. 

“ Hail to your highness!” she cried, half in joke, half 
reverently, and she raised her hands in supplication, as if 
he already wore the double crown of Upper and Lower 
Egypt. “Have the nine* Gods met you? Have the 
Hathors kissed you in your slumbers? This is a white 
day — a lucky day — I read it in your fac e!” 

“That is reading a cipher !” said Ani gayly, but with 
dignity. “Read this dispatch.” 

Katuti took the roll from his hand, read it through, and 
then returned it. 

“ The troops you equipped have conquered the allied 
armies of the Ethiopians,” she said, gravely, “and are 
bringing their prince in fetters to Thebes, with end- 
less treasure, and ten thousand prisoners! The gods be 
praised!” 

“And above all things I thank the gods that my Gen- 
eral Scheschenk — my foster-brother and friend — is return- 
ing well and unwounded from the war. I think, Katuti, 
that the figures in our dreams are this day taking forms of 
flesh and blood !” 

“ They are growing to the stature of heroes!” cried the 
widow. “ And you yourself, my lord, have been stirred 
by the breath of the Divinity. You walk like the w r orthy 


*The Egyptians commonly classed tlieir Gods in Triads, and 
3X3=9, but also sometimes in groups of 8, 13 and 15. In the tale 
of “ The Two Brothers,” the Holy Nine meet Batau, and make a wife 
for him. 


UAUDA. 


193 


son of Ra, the courage of Menth beams in your eyes, and 
you smile like the victorious Horus.” 

“ Patience, patience my friend,” said Ani, moderating 
the eagerness of the widow; “now, more than ever, we 
must cling to my principle of overestimating the strength 
of our opponents, and underrating our own. Nothing has 
succeeded on which I had counted, and on the contrary 
many things have justified my fears that they would fail. 
The beginning of the end is hardly dawning on us.” 

“ But successes, like misfortunes, never come singly,.” re- 
plied Katuti. 

“I agree with you,” said Ani. “The events of life 
seem to me to fall in groups. Every misfortune brings its 
fellow with it — like every piece of luck. Can you tell me 
of a second success?” 

“Women win no battles,” said the widow, smiling. 
“ But they win allies, and I have gained a powerful one.” 

“A god or an army?” asked Ani. 

“ Something between the two,” she replied. “ Paaker, 
the king’s chief pioneer, has joined us;” and she briefly 
related to Ani the history of her nephew’s love and 
hatred. 

Ani listened in silence; then he said with an expression 
of much disquiet and anxiety: 

“ This man is a follower of Rameses, and must shortly 
return to him. 'Many may guess at our projects, but every 
additional person who knows them may become a traitor. 
You are urging me, forcing me, forward too soon. A 
thousand well-prepared enemies are less dangerous than 
one untrustworthy ally ” 

“ Paaker is secured to us,” replied Katuti, positively. 

“ Who will answer for him?” asked Ani. 

“ His life shall be in your hand,” replied Katuti, 
gravely. “ My shrewd little dwarf Nernu knows that he has 
committed some secret crime, which the law punishes by 
death.” 

The regent’s countenance cleared. 

“ That alters the matter,” he said, with satisfaction. 

“Has he committed a murder?” 

“No,” said Katuti, “but Nemu has sworn to reveal 
to you alone all that he knows. He is wholly devoted to 
us.” 


194 


UARBA. 


“ Welland good,” said Ani thoughtfully, “ but he too is 
imprudent — much too imprudent. You are like a rider, 
who to win a wager urges his horse to leap over spears. 
If he falls on the points, it is he that suffers; you let him 
lie there, and go on your way.” 

“Or are impaled at the same time as the noble horse,” 
said Katuti, gravely. “You have more to win, and at 
the same time more to lose than we; but the meanest 
clings to life; and I must tell you, Ani, that I work for 
you, not to win anything through your success, but because 
you are as dear to me as a brother, and because I see in 
you the embodiment of my father’s claims which have 
been trampled on.” 

Ani gave her his hand and asked: 

“Did you also as my friend speak to Bent-Anat? Do 
I interpret your silence rightly?” 

Katuti sadly shook her head; but Ani went on: “ Yester- 
day that would have decided me to give her un; but to-day 
my courage has risen, and if the Hathors be my friends I 
may yet win her.” 

With these words he went in advance of the widow into 
the hall, where Paaker was still walking uneasily up 
and down. 

The pioneer bowed low before the regent, who returned 
the greeting with a half -haughty, half- familiar wave of the 
hand, and when he had seated himself in an arm-chair, po- 
litely addressed Paaker as the son of a friend, and a rela- 
tion of his family. 

“All the world,” he said, “speaks of your reckless cour- 
age. Men like you are rare; I have none such attached to 
me. I wish you stood nearer to me; but Rameses will not 

part with you, although— although In point of fact 

your office has two aspects; it requires the" daring of a 
soldier, and the dexterity of ascribe. No one denies that you 
have the first, but the second — the sword and the reed-pen 
are very different weapons, one requires supple fingers, the 
other a sturdy fist. The king used to complain of your 
reports — is he better satisfied with them now ?” 

“I hope so,” replied the Mohar; “my brother Horus 
is a practiced writer, and accompanies me in my journeys.” 

“That is well,” said Ani. “If I had the management 
of affairs I should treble your staff, and give you four — 


UARDA. 


195 


fiv® — six scribes under you, who would be entirely at your 
command, and to whom you could give the materials for 
the reports to be sent out. Your office demands that you 
should be both brave and circumspect; these characteristics 
are rarely united; but there are scriveners by hundreds in 
the temples.” 

4 4 So it seems to me,” said Paaker. 

Ani looked down meditatively, and continued — “Rame- 
ses is fond of comparing you with your father. That is 
unfair, for he — who is now with the justified— was with- 
out an equal; at once the bravest of heroes and the most 
skillful of scribes. You are judged unjustly; and it grieves 
me all the more that you belong, through your mother, to 
my poor but royal house. We will see whether I cannot 
succeed in putting you in the right place. For the pres- 
ent you are required in Syria almost as soon as you have 
got home. You have shown that you are a man who does 
not fear death, and who can render good service, and you 
might now enjoy your wealth in peace with your wife.” 

44 1 am alone,” said Paaker. 

44 Then, if you come home again, let Katuti seek you 
out the prettiest wife in Egypt,” said the regent, smiling. 
44 She sees herself every day in her mirror, and must 
be a connoisseur in the charms of women.” 

Ani rose with these words, bowed to Paaker with stud- 
ied friendliness; gave his hand to Katuti, and said as he 
left the hall: 

44 Send me to-day the — the handkerchief — by the dwarf 
Nemu.” 

When he was already in the garden, he turned once 
more and said to Paaker: 

44 Some friends are supping with me to-day; pray let me 
see you too.” 

The pioneer bowed; he dimly perceived that he was en- 
tangled in invisible toils. Up to the present moment he had 
been proud of his devotion to his calling, of his duties as 
Mohar; and now he had discovered that the king, whose 
chain of honor hung round his neck, undervalued him, 
and perhaps only suffered him to fill his arduous and dan- 
gerous post for the sake of his father, while he, notwith- 
standing the temptations offered him in Thebes by his 
wealth, had accepted it willingly and disinterestedly. He 


196 


UARDA. 


knew that his skill with a pen was small, but that was no 
reason why he should be despised; often had he wished 
that he could reconstitute his office exactly as Ani had 
suggested, but his petition to be allowed a secretary had 
been rejected by Rameses. What he spied out, he was 
told was to be kept secret, and no one could be responsible 
for the secrecy of another. 

As his brother Horus grew up, he had followed him ashis 
obedient assistant, even after he had married a wife, who 
with her child remained in Thebes under the care of 
Setchem. 

He was now filling Paaker’s place in Syria during his 
absence; badly enough, as the pioneer thought, and yet 
not without credit; for the fellow knew how to write smooth 
words with a graceful pen. 

Paaker, accustomed to solitude, became absorbed in 
thought, forgetting everything that surrounded him; even 
the widow herself, who had sunk on to a couch, and was 
observing him in silence. 

He gazed into vacancy, while a crowd of sensations 
rushed confusedly through his brain. He thought himself 
cruelly ill-used, and he felt too that it w T as incumbent on 
him to become the instrument of a terrible fate to some 
other person. All was dim and chaotic in his mind, his 
love merged in his hatred; only one thing was clear and 
unclouded by doubt, and that was his strong conviction 
that Nefert would be his. 

The gods indeed were in deep disgrace with him. How 
much he had depended upon them — and with what a 
grudging hand they had rewarded him; he knew of but one 
indemnification for his wasted life, and in that he believed 
so firmly that he counted on it as if it were capital which 
he had invested in sound securities. But at this moment 
his resentful feelings embittered the sweet dream of hope, 
and he strove in vain for calmness and clear-sightedness; 
when such cross-roads as these met, no amulet, no divining 
rod could guide him; here he must think for himself, and 
beat his own road before he could walk in it; and yet he 
could think out no plan, and arrive at no decision. 

He grasped his burning forehead in his hands, and started 
from his brooding reverie, to remember where he was, to 
recall his conversation with the mother of the woman he 


UARDA. 


19 ? 


loved, and her saying that she was capable of guiding men. 

“She perhaps may be able to think for me,” he muttered, 
to himself. “ Action suits me better.” 

He slowly went up to her and said: 

“So it is settled then — we are confederates.” 

“ Against Rameses, and for Ani,” she replied, giving 
him her slender hand. 

“In a few days I start for Syria, meanwhile you can 
make up your mind what commissions you have to give me. 
The money for your son shall be conveyed to you to-day 
before sunset. May I not pay my respects to Nefert?” 

“ Not now, she is praying in the temple.” 

“But to-morrow?” 

“Willingly, my dear friend. She will be delighted to 
see you, and to thank you.” 

“ Farewell, Katuti.” 

“ Call me mother,” said the widow, and she waved her 
veil to him as a last farewell. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

As soon" as Paaker had disappeared behind the shrubs, 
Katuti struck a little sheet of metal, a slave appeared, and 
Katuti asked her whether Nefert had returned from the 
temple. 

“ Her litter is just now at the side gate,” was the 
answer. 

“ I await her here,” said the widow. The slave went 
away, and a few minutes later Nefert entered the hall. 

“ You want me?” she said, and after kissing her mother 
she sank upon her couch. “I am tired,” she exclaimed; 
“ Nemu, take a fan and keep the flies off me.” 

The dwarf sat down on a cushion by her couch, and 
began to wave the semi-circular fan of ostrich-feathers; 
but Katuti put him aside and said: 

“You can leave us for the present; we want to speak to 
each other in private.” 

The dwarf shrugged his shoulders and got up, but Nefert 
looked at her mother with an irrepressible appeal. 

“Let him stay,” she said, as pathetically as if her whole 


198 


VARDA. 


happiness depended upon it. “ The flies torment me so, 
and Netnu always holds his tongue.” 

She patted the dwarfs big head as if he were a large dog, 
and called the white cat, which with a graceful leap sprang 
on to her shoulder and. stood there with its back arched, to 
be stroked by her slender fingers. 

Nemu looked inquiringly at his mistress, but Katuti 
turned to her daughter, and said, in a warning voice: 

“ I have very serious things to discuss with you.” 

“ Indeed?” said her daughter, “ but I cannot be stung by 
the flies all the same. Of course, if you wish it ” 

“Nemu may stay then,” said Katuti, and her voice 
had the tone of that of a nurse who gives way to a 
naughty child. “ Besides, he knows what I have to talk 
about.” 

“There now!” said Nefert, kissing the head of the white 
cat, and she gave the fan back to the dwarf. 

The widow looked at her daughter with sincere compas- 
sion, she went up to her and looked for the thousandth time 
in admiration at her pretty face. 

“Poor child,” she sighed, “how willingly I would 
spare you the frightful news which sooner or later you 
must hear — must bear. Leave off your foolish play 
with the cat, I have things of the most hideous gravity to 
tell you.” 

“ Speak on,” replied Nefert. “ To-day I cannot fear the 
worst. Mena’s star, the haruspex told me, stands under the 
sign of happiness, and I inquired of the oracle in the 
temple of Besa, and heard that my husband is prospering. 
I have prayed in the temple till I am quite content. Only 
speak! — I know my brother’s letter from the camp had 
no good news in it ; the evening before last I saw you 
had been crying, and yesterday you did not look well; 
even the pomegranate flowers in your hair did not suit 
you.” 

“Your brother,” sighed Katuti, “has occasioned me 
great trouble, and we might through him have suffered 
deep dishonor ” 

“We — dishonor?” exclaimed Kefert, and she nervously 
clutched at the cat. 

“ Your brother lost enormous sums at play; to recover 
them he pledged the mummy of your father ” 


VARDA. 


199 


“Horrible!” cried Nefert. “We must appeal at once 
to the king; I will write to him myself; for Mena’s sake 
he will hear me. Rameses is great and noble, and will not 
let a house that is faithfully devoted to him fall into dis- 
grace through the reckless folly of a boy. Certainly I will 
write to him.” 

She said this in a voice of most childlike confidence, and 
desired Nemu to wave the fan more gently, as if this con- 
cern were settled. 

In Katuti’s heart surprise and indignation at the unnat- 
ural indifference of her daughter were struggling together; 
but she withheld all blame, and said carelessly: 

“We are already released, for my nephew Paaker, as 
soon as he heard what threatened us, offered me his help — 
freely and unprompted, from pure goodness of heart and 
attachment.” 

“How good of Paaker!” cried Nefert. “He was so 
fond of me, and you know, mother, I always stood up for 
him. No doubt it was for my sake that he behaved so 
generously!” 

The young wife laughed, and pulling the cat’s face close 
to her own, held her nose to its cool little nose, stared into 
its green eyes, and said, imitating childish talk: 

“ There now, pussy — how kind people are to your little 
mistress.” 

Katuti was vexed at this fresh outburst of her daughter’s 
childish impulses. 

“ It seems to me,” she said, “that you might leave off 
playing and trifling when I am talking of such serious 
matters. I have long since observed that the fate of the 
house to which your father and mother belong is a matter 
of perfect indifference to you; and yet you would have to 
seek shelter and protection under its roof if your hus- 
band ” 

“ Well, mother?” asked Nefert, raising herself and 
breathing more quickly. 

As soon as Katuti perceived her daughter’s agitation she 
regretted that she had not more gently led up to the news 
she had to break to her; for she loved her daughter, and 
knew that it would give her keen pain. 

So she went on more sympathetically: 

“ You boasted in joke that people are good to you, and 


200 


UARDA. 


it is true; you win hearts by your mere being — by only be- 
ing what you are. And Mena too loved you tenderly; but 
•' absence/ says the proverb, Ms the one real enemy/ and 
Mena ” 

“ What has Mena done?” Once more Nefert interrupted 
her mother, and her nostrils quivered. 

“Mena,” said Katuti, decidedly, “has violated the 
truth and esteem which he owes you — he has trodden them 
under foot, and ” 

“ Mena?” exclaimed the young wife with flashing eyes; 
she flung the cat on the floor, and sprang from her coach. 

“ Yes — Mena,” said Katuti, firmly. “ Your brother 
writes that he would have neither silver nor gold for his 
spoil, but took the fair daughter of the prince of the 
Lanaids into his tent. The ignoble wretch!” 

“Ignoble wretch!” cried Nefert, and two or three times 
she repeated her mother’s last words. Katuti drew back 
in horror, for her gentle, docile, childlike daughter stood 
before her absolutely transfigured beyond all recognition. 

She looked like a beautiful demon of revenge; her eyes 
sparkled, her breath came quickly, her limbs quivered, 
and with extraordinary strength and rapidity she seized 
the dwarf by the hand, led him to the door of one of the 
rooms which opened out of the hall, threw it open, pushed 
the little man over the threshold, and closed it sharply 
upon him ; then with white lips she came up to her 
mother. 

“An ignoble wretch did you call him?” she cried out 
with a hoarse, husky voice, “an ignoble wretch! Take 
back your words, mother, take back your words, or ” 

Katuti turned paler and paler, and said soothingly: 

“The words may sound hard, but he has broken faith 
with you, and openly dishonored you.” 

“And shall I believe it?” said Nefert, with a scornful 
laugh. “ Shall I believe it, because a scoundrel has written 
it, who has pawned his father’s body and the honor of 
his family; because it is told you by that noble and brave 
gentleman! why a box on the ears "from Mena would be 
the death of him. Look at me, mother, here are my eyes, 
and if that table there were Mena’s tent, and you were 
Mena, and you took the fairest woman living by the hand 
and led her into it, and these eyes saw it — ay, over and 


UARDA. 


201 


over again — I would laugh at it — as I laugh at it now; and 
1 should say: ‘ Who knows what he may have to give her, 
or to say to her/ and not for one instant would I doubt 
his truth; for your son is false and Mena is true. Osiris 
broke faith with Isis* — but Mena may be favored bv a 
hundred women — he will take none to his tent but me!” 

“Keep your belief,” said Katuti, bitterly, “but leave 
me mine.” 

“ Yours?” said Nefert, and her flushed cheeks turned 
pale again. “What do you believe? You listen to the 
worst and basest things that can be said of a man who has 
overloaded you with benefits! A wretch, bah! an ignoble 
wretch? Is that what you call a man who lets you dis- 
pose of his estate as you please?” 

“Nefert,” cried Katuti, angrily, I will ” 

“ Do what you will,” interrupted her indignant daughter, 
“ but do not villify the generous man who has never hin- 
dered you from throwing away his property on your son's 
debts and your own ambition. Since the day before yes- 
terday I have learned that we are not rich; and I have re- 
flected, and I have asked myself what has become of our 
corn and our cattle, of our sheep and the rents from the 
farmers. The wretch’s estate was not so contemptible; 
but I tell you plainly I should be unworthy to be the wife 
of the noble Mena if I allowed any one to villify his name 
under his own roof. Hold to your belief, by all means, but 
one of us must quit this house — you or I.” 

At these words Nefert broke into passionate sobs, threw 
herself on her knees by her couch, hid her face in the 
cushions, and wept convulsively and without intermission. 

Katuti stood behind her, startled, trembling, and not 
knowing what to say. Was this her gentle, dreamy 
daughter? Had ever a daughter dared to speak thus to 
her mother? But was she right or was Kefert? This 
question was the pressing one; she knelt down by the side 
of the young wife, put her arm round her, drew her head 
against her bosom, and whispered pitifully: 

“You cruel, hard-hearted child; forgive your poor, mis- 
erable mother, and do not make the measure of her 
wretchedness overflow.” 


* See Plutarch, Isis and Osiris. 


202 


VARDA. 


Then Neferfc rose, kissed her mother’s hand, and went 
silently into her own room. 

Katuti remained alone; she felt as if a dead hand held 
her heart in its icy grasp, and she muttered to herself: 

“Ani is right — nothing turns to good excepting that 
from which we expect the worst.” 

She held her hand to her head, as if she had heard - 
something too strange to be believed. Her heart went 
after her daughter, but instead of sympathizing with her 
she collected all her courage, and deliberately recalled 
all the reproaches that Nefert had heaped upon her. She 
did not spare herself a single word, and finally she mur- 
mured to herself: “She can spoil everything. For Mena’s 
sake she will sacrifice me and the whole world; Mena and 
Rameses are one, and if she discovers what we are plotting 
she will betray us without a moment’s hesitation. Hitherto 
all has gone on without her seeing it, but to-day some- 
thing has been unsealed in her — an eye, a tongue, an ear, 
which have hitherto been closed. She is like a deaf and 
dumb person, who by a sudden fright is restored to speech 
and hearing. My favorite child will become the spy of my 
actions, and my judge.” 

She gave no utterance to the last words, but she seemed 
to hear them with her inmost ear; the voice that could 
speak to her thus, startled and frightened her, and solitude 
was in itself a torture; she called the dwarf, and desired 
him to have her litter prepared, as she intended going to 
the temple, and visiting the wounded who had been sent 
home from Syria. 

“ And the handkerchief for the regent?” asked the little 
man. 

“ It was a pretext,” said Katuti. “ He wishes to speak 
to you about the matter which you know of with regard to 
Paaker. What is it?” 

“ Do not ask,” replied Nemu, “ I ought not to betray it. 
By Besa, who protects us dwarfs, it is better that thou 
shouldst never know it.” 

“For to-day I have learned enough that is new to me,” 
retorted Katuti. “ Now go to Ani, and if you are able to 
throw Paaker entirely into his power — good — I will give — 
but what have I to give away? I will be grateful to you; 
and when we have gained our end I will set you free and 
make you rich.” 


VAUDA. 


203 

Nemu kissed her robe, and said, in a low voice: What 

is the end?” 

“ You know what Ani is striving for,” answered the 
widow. “And I have but one wish!” 

“ And that is?” 

“ To see Paaker in Mena’s place.” 

“ Then our wishes are the same,” said the dwarf, and he 
left the hall. 

Katuti looked after him, and muttered: 

“ It must be so. For if everything remains as it was 
and Mena comes home and demands a reckoning — it is not 
to be thought of! It must not be!” 


CHAPTER XX. 

As Nemu, on his way back from his visit to Ani, ap- 
proached his mistress’ house, he was detained by a boy, 
who desired him to follow him to the strangers’ quarter. 
Seeing him hesitate, the messenger showed him the ring 
of his mother Hekt, who had come into the town on busi- 
ness, and wanted to speak with him. 

Nemu was tired, for he was not accustomed to walking; 
his ass was dead, and Katuti could not afford to give him 
another. Half of Mena’s beasts had been sold, and the 
remainder barely sufficed for the field-labor. 

At the corners of the busiest streets, and on the market- 
places, stood boys with asses which they hired out for a 
small sum;* but Xemu had parted with his last money for 
a garment and a new wig, so that he might appear 
worthily attired before the regent. In former times his 
pocket had never been empty, for Mena had thrown him 
many a ring of silver, or even of gold, but his restless and 
ambitious spirit wasted no regrets on lost luxuries. He re- 
membered those years of superfluity with contempt, and as 


* In the streets of modern Egyptian towns asses stand saddled for 
hire. On the monuments only foreigners are represented as riding 
on asses, but these beasts are mentioned in almost every list of the 
possessions of the nobles, even in very early times', and the number 
is often considerable. There is a picture extant of a rich old man 
who rides on a seat supported on the backs of two donkeys. Lepsius, 
Denkmaler, part ii, 126. 


204 


UARDA 


he puffed and panted on his way through the dust, he felt 
himself swell with satisfaction. 

The regent had admitted him to a private interview, and 
the little man had soon succeeded in riveting his attention; 
Ani had laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks at 
Nemu^s description of Paaker’s wild passion, and he had 
proved himself in earnest over the dwarf’s further commu- 
nications, and had met his demands half-way. Nernu felt 
like a duck hatched on dry land, and put for the first time 
into water; like a bird hatched in a cage, and that for the 
first time is allowed to spread its wings and fly. He would 
have swam or have flown willingly to death if circumstances 
had not set a limit to his zeal and energy. 

Bathed in sweat and coated with dust, he at last reached 
the gay tent in the strangers’ quarter,* where the sorceress 
Hekt was accustomed to alight when she came over to 
Thebes. 

He was considering far-reaching projects, dreaming of 
possibilities, devising subtle plans — rejecting them as too 
subtle, and supplying their place with others more feasible 
and less dangerous; altogether the little diplomatist had 
no mind for the motley tribes which here surrounded him. 
He had passed the temple in which the people of Kaft 
adored their Goddess Astarte,f and the sanctuary of Seth, 
where they sacrificed to Baal,j without letting himself be 
disturbed by the dancing devotees or the noise of cymbals 
and music which issued from their inclosures. The tents 
and slightly-built wooden houses of the dancing girls did 
not tempt him. Besides their inhabitants, who in the 


* Herodotus mentions tlie Tyrian quarter of Mempliis, which lay 
southward from the temple of Ptah, and in which £,eirrf J Aqp6o8ih j, 
i. e., the foreign Aphrodite was worshiped. Brugsch has identified 
it with the quarter of the city called the “ world of life.” 

t Astarte, the great goddess of the Phoenicians, frequently appears 
on the monuments as Sechet. At Edfu she is represented with the 
lioness - head, and drives a chariot drawn by horses. Her name 
frequenty occurs in papyri of the time of our story with that 
of Rameses II, as well as of a favorite horse and dog of the king’s. 

I According to the papyrus Sallier I, the Hyksos-king Apepi- 
Apopliis “choose Seth for his lord, and worshiped no other god in 
Egypt.” In later times, the Semitic god Baal was called Seth by the 
Egyptians themselves, as we learn from the treaty of peace of 
Rameses II with the Cheta, found at Karnak, in which on one side 


UARDA . 


205 


evening tricked themselves out in tinsel finery to lure 
the youth of Thebes into extravagance and folly, and spent 
their days in sleeping till sundown, only the gambling 
booths drove a brisk business; and the guard of police had 
much trouble to restrain the soldier, who had staked and 
lost all his prize-money, or the sailor, who thought himself 
cheated, from such outbreaks of rage and despair as must 
end in bloodshed. Drunken men lay in front of the tav- 
erns, and others were doing their utmost, by repeatedly 
draining their beakers, to follow their example. 

Nothing was yet to be seen of the various musicians, jug- 
glers, fire-eaters, serpent-charmers, and conjurors, who in 
the evening displayed their skill in this part of the town, 
which at all times had the aspect of a never-ceasing fair. 
But these delights, which Nemu had passed a thousand 
times, had never had any temptation for him. Women 
and gambling were not to his taste; that which could be 
had simply for the taking, without trouble or exertion, 
offered no charms to his fancy; he had no fear of the ridi- 
cule of the dancing- women, and their associates — indeed, 
he occasionally sought them, for he enjoyed a war of words, 
and he was of opinion that no one in Thebes could beat 
him at having the last word. Other people, indeed, shared 
this opinion, and not long before Paakeris steward had said 
of Nemu: 

“ Our tongues are cudgels, but the little one’s is a 
dagger.” 

The destination of the dwarf was a very large and gaudy 
tent, not in any way distinguished from a dozen others in 
its neighborhood. The opening which led into it was 
wide, but at present closed by a hanging of coarse stuff. 

Nemu squeezed himself in between the edge of the tent 
and the yielding door, and found himself in an almost cir- 
cular tent with many angles, and with its cone-shaped roof 
supported on a pole by way of a pillar. 


tlie Seth of the Cheta (a different god), and Astarte are invoked, and 
on the other the Egyptian gods. The form “ Sutech ” occurs with 
“Seth.” Seth-Typhon is discussed in “Etudes egyptologiques ” by 
Diestel, “Voyage d’un fllgyptien ” by Chabas, “Jfegypten und die 
Bucher Moses ” by Ebers, and lately by E. Meyer, in his “ Disserta- 
tion liber Seth.” The Phoenician religion is exhaustively treated by 
Moyers, 


206 


UARDA. 


Pieces of shabby carpet lay on the dusty soil that was the 
floor of the tent, and on these squatted some gayly-clad girls, 
whom an old woman was busily engaged in dressing. She 
painted thefingerand toe-nails of the fair ones with orange- 
colored Hennah, blackened their brows and eyelashes with 
Mestem* to give brilliancy to their glance, painted their 
cheeks with white and red, and anointed their hair with 
scented oil. It was very hot in the tent, and not one of 
the girls spoke a word; they sat perfectly still before the 
old woman, and did not stir a finger, excepting now and 
then to take up one of the porous clay pitchers, which 
stood on the ground, for a draught of water, or to put a 
pill of Kyphi between their painted lips. 

Various musical instruments leaned against the walls of 
the tent, hand-drums, pipes and lutes, and four tambou- 
rines lay on the ground; on the vellum of one slept a 
cat, whose graceful kittens played with the bells in the 
hoop of another. 

An old negro woman went in and out of the little back 
door of the tent, pursued by flies and gnats, while she 
cleared away a variety of earthen dishes with the remains 
of food — pomegranate-peelings, bread-crumbs, and garlic- 
tops — which had been lying on one of the carpets for some 
hours since the girls had finished their dinner. 

Old Hekt sat apart from the girls on a painted trunk, 
and she was saying, as she took a parcel from her wallet: 

“ Here, take this incense, and burn six seeds of it, and 

the vermin will all disappear ” she pointed to the flies 

that swarmed round the platter in her hand. “ If you 
like I will drive away the mice too and draw the snakes out 
of their holes better than the priests. ”f 

y Keep your magic to yourself,” said a girl, in a husky 
voice. “ Since you muttered your words over me, and gave 
me that drink to make me grow slight and lissom again, I 
have been shaken to pieces with a cough at night, and 
turn faint when I am dancing.” 

“ But look how slender you have grown,” answered 
Hekt, “and your cough will soon be well.” 


*Antimony. 

f Recipes for exterminating noxious creatures are found in the 
papyrus in my possession. 


UARDA. 


207 


“When I am dead,” whispered the girl to the old 
.woman. “I know that — most of us end so.” 

The witch shrugged her shoulders, and perceiving the 
dwarf she rose from her seat. 

The girls too noticed the little man, and set up the inde- 
scribable cry, something like the cackle of hens, which is 
peculiar to Eastern women when something tickles their 
fancy. Nema was well known to them, for his mother 
always stayed in their tent whenever she came to Thebes, 
and the gayest of them cried out: 

“ You are grown, little man, since the last time you 
were here.” 

“ So are you,” said the dwarf, sharply; “but only as far 
as big words are concerned.” 

“And you are as wicked as you are small,” retorted the 
girl. 

“ Then my wickedness is small too,” said the dwarf, 
laughing, “for I am little enough! Good-morning girls — 
may Besa help your beauty. Good-day, mother — you sent 
for me?” 

The old woman nodded; the dwarf perched himself on 
the chest beside her, and they began to whisper together. 

“ How dusty and tired you are,” said Hekt. “I do be- 
lieve you have come on foot in the burning sun.” 

“ My ass is dead,” replied Nemu, “ and 1 have no money 
to hire a steed.” 

“A foretaste o£ future splendor,” said the old woman, 
with a sneer. “ What have you succeeded in doing?” 

“ Paaker has saved us,” replied Nemu, “and I have 
just come from a long interview with the regent.” 

“ Well?” 

“He will renew your letter of freedom, if you will put 
Paaker into his power.” 

“Good — good. I wish he would make up his mind to 
come and seek me — in disguise, of course. I would ” 

“ He is very timid, and it would not be wise to suggest 
to him anything so impracticable.” 

“Hm!” said Hekt/“ perhaps you are right, for when 
we have to demand a good deal it is best only to ask for 
what is feasible. One rash request often altogether spoils 
the patron’s inclination for granting favors.” 

“ What else has occurred?” 


208 


UARDA. 


“ The regent’s army has conquered the Ethiopians, and 
is coming home with rich spoils.” 

“ People may be bought with treasure,” muttered the 
old woman, “ good — good!” 

“Paaker’s sword is sharpened; I would give no more for 
my master’s life, than I have in my pocket — and you know 
why I came on foot through the dust.” 

“ Well, you can ride home again,” replied his mother, 
giving the little man a small silver ring. “ Has the 
pioneer seen Nefert again?” 

‘•'Strange things have happened,” said the dwarf, and 
he told his mother what had taken place between Katuti 
and Nefert. Nemu was a good listener, and had not for- 
gotten a word of what he had heard. 

The old woman listened to his story with the most eager 
attention. 

“ Well, well,” she muttered, “ here is another extraordi- 
nary thing. What is common to all men is generally dis- 
gustingly similar in the palace and in the hovel. Mothers 
are everywhere she-apes, who with pleasure let themselves 
be tormented to death by their children, who repay them 
badly enough, and the wives generally open their ears wide 
if any one can tell them of some misbehavior of their hus- 
bands! But that is not the way with your mistress.” 

The old woman looked thoughtful, and then she con- 
tinued : 

“In point of fact this can be easily explained, and is 
not at all more extraordinary than it is that those tired 
girls should sit yawning. You told me once that it was a 
pretty sight to see the mother and daughter side by side 
in their chariot when they goto a festival or the Panegyrai; 
Katuti, you said, took care that the colors of their dresses 
and the flowers in their hair should harmonize. For which 
of them is the dress first chosen on such occasions?” 

“Always for the lady Katuti, who never wears any but 
certain colors,” replied Nemu, quickly. 

“You see,” said- the witch, laughing, “indeed it must 
be so. That mother always thinks of herself first, and of 
the objects she wishes to gain; but they hang high, and 
she treads down everything that is in her way — even her 
own child — to reach them. She will contrive that Paaker 
shall be the ruin of Mena, as sure as I have ears to hear 


UARDA. 


209 


with, for that woman is capable of playing any tricks with 
her daughter, and would marry her to that lame dog 
yonder if it would advance her ambitious schemes.” 

“But Nefert!” said Nemu, “you should have seen her. 
The dove became a lioness.” 

“ Because she loves Mena as much as her mother loves 
herself,” answered Hekt. “As the poets say, ‘she is full 
of him/ It is really true of her, there is no room for any- 
thing else. She cares for one only, and woe to those who 
come between him and her!” 

“I have seen other women in love,” said Nemu, 
“ but ” 

“ But,” exclaimed the old witch, with such a sharp 
laugh that the girls all looked up, “ they behaved differ- 
ently to Nefert. I believe you, for there is not one in a 
thousand that loves as she does. It is a sickness that gives 
raging pain — like a poisoned arrow in an open wound, and 
devours all that is near it like a fire-brand, and is harder 
to cure than the disease which is killing that coughing 
wench. To be possessed by that demon of anguish is to 
suffer the torture of the damned — or else,” and her voice 
sank to softness, “ to be more blest than the gods, happy 
as they are. I know — I know it all; for I was once one of 
the possessed, one of the thousand, and even now ” 

“ Well?” asked the dwarf. 

“ Folly!” muttered the witch, stretching herself as if 
awakening from sleep. “ Madness! He — is so long dead, 
and if he were not it would be all the same to me. All 
men are alike, and Mena will be like the rest.” 

“ But Paaker surely is governed by the demon you de- 
scribe?” asked the dwarf. 

“May be,” replied his mother; “ but he is self-willed to 
madness. He would simply give his life for the thing be- 
cause it is denied him. If your mistress Nefert were his, 
perhaps he might be easier; but what is the use of chatter- 
ing? I must go over to the gold tent, where everyone 
goes now who has any money in their purse, to speak to 
the mistress ” 

“ What do you want with her?” interrupted Nemu. 

“ Little Uarda, over there,” said the old woman, “ will 
soon be quite well again. Yon have seen her lately; is she 
not grown beautiful, wonderfully beautiful? Now I shall 


210 


UARDA. 


see what the good woman will offer me if I take Uarda to 
her? the girl is as light-footed as a gazelle, and with good 
training would learn to dance in a very few weeks.” 

Nemu turned perfectly white. 

“ That you shall not do,” said he, positively. 

“And why not?” asked the old woman, “if it pays 
well.” 

“ Because I forbid it,” said the dwarf, in a choked voice. 

“ Bless me,” laughed the woman; “ you want to play 
my lady Nefert, and expect me to take the part of her 
mother Katuti. But, seriously, having seen the child 
again, have you any fancy for her?” 

“Yes,” replied Nemu. “If we gain our end, Katuti 
will make me free, and make me rich. Then I will buy 
Pinem’s grandchild, and take her for my wife. I will 
build a house near the hall of justice, and give the com- 
plainants and defendants private advice, like the hunch-1 
back Sent, who now drives through the streets in his own 
chariot.” 

“Hm!” said his mother, “ that might have done very 
well, but perhaps it is too late. When the child had fever 
she talked about the young priest who was sent from 
the House of Seti by Ameni. He is a fine tall fellow, and 
took a great interest in her; he is a gardener’s son named 
Pentaur.” 

“Pentaur?” said the dwarf. “Pentaur.? He has the 
haughty air and the expression of the old Mohar, and 
would be sure to rise; but they are going to break his proud 
neck for him.” 

“ So much the better,” said the old woman. “ Uarda 
would be just the wife for you, she is good and steady, and 
no one knows ” 

“ What?” said Nemu. 

“Who her mother was — for she was not one of us. She 
came here from foreign parts when she died, and she left a 
trinket with strange letters on it. We must show it to one 
of the prisoners of war, after you have got her safe; per- 
haps they could make out the queer inscription. She 
comes of a good stock, that I am certain; for Uarda is the 
very living image of her mother, and as soon as she was 
born she looked like the child of a great man. You smile, 
you idiot! Why thousands of infants have been in my 


UARDA . 


211 


hands, and if one was brought to me wrapped in rags I 
could tell if its parents were noble or base-born. The 
shape of the foot shows it — and other marks. Uarda may 
stay where she is, and I will help you. If anything new 
occurs let me know.” 


CHAPTER XXL 

When Nemu, riding on an ass this time, reached home, 
he found neither his mistress nor Nefert within. 

The former was gone, first to the temple, and then into 
the town; Nefert, obeying an irresistible impulse, had 
gone to her royal friend Bent-Anat. 

The king’s palace was more like a little town than 
a house.* The wing in which the regent resided, and 
which we have already visited, lay away from the river; 
while the part of the building which was used by the 
royal family commanded the Nile. 

It offered a splendid, and at the same time a pleasing 
prospect to the ships which sailed by at its foot, for 
it stood, not a huge and solitary mass in the midst of the 
surrounding gardens, but in picturesque groups of various 
outline. On each side of a large structure, which con- 
tained the state-rooms and banqueting hall, three rows of 
pavilions of different sizes extended in symmetrical order. 
They were connected with each other by colonnades, or 
by little bridges, under which flowed canals, that watered 
the gardens and gave the palace-grounds the aspect of a 
town built on islands. 

The principal part of the castle of the Pharaohs was con- 
structed of light Nile-mud bricks and elegantly carved 
wood- work, but the extensive walls which surrounded it 
were ornamented and fortified with towers, in front of 
which heavily armed soldiers stood on guard. 

* The view accepted by many writers that the temples were also 
the king’s palace, is erroneous. In the best-preserved temples, as at 
Dendera and Edfu, we know the purpose of the several rooms, and 
they were all devoted to the service of "the gods. We learn 
from the monuments that the kings inhabited extensive buildings 
surrounded by gardens, and constructed of light materials. The 
palaces resein led, in fact, the houses of the nobles, but were on a 
larger scale, 


212 


UARDA. 


The walls and pillars, the galleries and colonnades, even 
the roofs, blazed in many-colored paints, and at every gate 
stood tall masts, from which red and blue flags fluttered 
when the king was residing there. Now they stood up 
with only their brass spikes, which were intended to inter- 
cept and conduct the lightning. 

To the right of the principal building, and entirely sur- 
rounded with thick plantations of trees, stood the house of 
the royal ladies, some mirrored in the lake which they sur- 
rounded at a greater or less distance. In this part of the 
grounds were the king’s store-houses in endless rows, while 
behind the center building, in which the Pharaoh resided, 
stood the barracks for his body-guard and the treasuries. 
The left wing was occupied by the officers of the house- 
hold, the innumerable servants and the horses and chariots 
of the sovereign. 

In spite of the absence of the king himself, brisk activ- 
ity reigned in the palace of Rameses, for a hundred gar- 
deners watered the turf, the flower-borders, the shrubs and 
trees; companies of guards passed hither and thither ; 
horses were being trained and broken; and the princess’ 
wing was as full as a bee-hive of servants and maids, offi- 
cers and priests. 

Nefert was well-known in this part of the palace. The 
gate-keepers let her litter pass unchallenged, with low bows; 
once in the garden, a lord in waiting received her, and con- 
ducted her to the chamberlain, who, after a short delay, in- 
troduced her into the sitting-room of the king’s favorite 
daughter. 

Bent-Anat’s apartment was on the first floor of the pavil- 
ion, next to the king’s residence. Her dead mother had 
inhabited these pleasant rooms, and when the princess was 
grown up it made the king happy to feel that she was near 
him; so the beautiful house of the wife who had too early 
departed, was given up to her, and at the same time, as 
she was his eldest daughter, many privileges were conceded 
to her, which hitherto none but queens had enjoyed. 

The large room, c in which Nefert found the princess, 
commanded the river. A door- way, closed with light 
curtains, opened on to a long balcony with a finely worked 
balustrade of copper-gilt, to which clung a climbing rose 
with pink flowers, 


UARDA. 


ns 

When Nefert entered the room, Bent-Anat was just 
having the rustling curtain drawn aside by her waiting 
women; for the sun was setting, and at that hour she loved 
to sit on the balcony, as it grew cooler, and watch with 
devout meditation the departure of Ra, who, as the gray- 
haired Turn, vanished behind the western horizon of the 
Necropolis in the evening to bestow the blessing of light 
on the under-world. 

Nefert's apartment was far more elegantly appointed 
than the princess'; her mother and Mena had surrounded 
her with a thousand pretty trifles. Her carpets were made 
of sky-blue and silver brocade from Damascus, the seats 
and couches were covered with stuff, embroidered in 
feathers by the Ethiopian women, which looked like the 
breasts of birds. The images of the Goddess Hathor, 
which stood on the house-altar, were of an imitation of 
emerald, which was called Mafkat, and the other little 
figures, which were placed near the patroness, were of 
lapis-lazuli, malachite, agate and bronze, overlaid with 
gold. On her toilet-table stood a collection of salve-boxes, 
and cups of ebony and ivory finely carved, and everything 
was arranged with the utmost taste, and exactly suited 
Nefert herself. 

Bent-Anat's room also suited the owner. 

It was high and airy, and its furniture consisted in costly 
but simple necessaries; the lower part of the wall was lined 
with cool tiles of white and violet earthenware, on each of 
which was pictured a star, and which, all together, formed 
a tasteful pattern. Above these the walls were covered with 
a beautiful dark green material brought from Sais, and the 
same stuff was used to cover the long divans by the wall. 
Chairs and stools, made of cane, stood round a very large 
table in the middle of this room, out of which several 
others opened; all handsome, comfortable, and harmonious 
in aspect, but all betraying that their mistress took small 
pleasure in trifling decorations. But her chief delight 
was in finely-grown plants, of which rare and magnificent 
specimens, artistically arranged on stands, stood in the 
corners of many of the rooms. In others there were tall 
obelisks of ebony, which bore saucers for incense, which all 
the Egyptians loved, and which was prescribed by their 
physicians to purify and perfume their dwellings. Her 


214 


VARDA. 


simple bedroom would have suited a prince who loved 
floriculture quite as well as a princess. 

Before all things Bent-Anat loved air and light. The 
curtains of her windows and doors were only closed when 
the position of the sun absolutely required it ; while in 
Nefert’s rooms, from morning till evening, a dim twilight 
was maintained. 

The princess went affectionately toward the charioteer’s 
wife, who bowed low before her at the threshold; she took 
her chin with her right hand, kissed her delicate narrow 
forehead, and said: 

“ Sweet creature! At last you have come uninvited to 
see lonely me! It is the first time since our men went 
away to the war. If Raineses’ daughter commands there 
is no escape, and you come; but of your own free will ” 

Nefert raised her large eyes, moist with tears, with an 
imploring look, and her glance was so pathetic that Bent- 
Anat interrupted herself, and taking botli her hands, 
exclaimed: 

“Do you know who must have eyes exactly like yours? 
I mean the goddess from whose tears, when they fall on 
the earth, flowers spring.” 

Nefert’s eyes fell and she blushed deeply. 

“I wish,” she murmured, “that my eyes might close 
forever, for I am very unhappy.” And two large tears 
rolled down her cheeks. 

“ What has happened to you, my darling?” asked the 
princess, sympathetically, and she drew her toward her, 
putting her arm round her like a sick child. 

Nefert glanced anxiously at the chamberlain, and the 
ladies in waiting who had entered the room with her, and 
Bent-Anat understood the look; she requested her attend- 
ants to withdraw, and when she was alone with her sad 
little friend — “Speak now,” she said. “What saddens 
your heart ? How comes this melancholy expression on 
your dear baby-face? Tell me, and I will comfort you, and 
you shall be my bright, thoughtless plaything once more.” 

“ Thy plaything!” answered Nefert, and a flash of dis- 
pleasure sparkled in her eyes. “Thou art right to call 
me so, for I deserve no better name. I have submitted all 
my life to be nothing but the plaything of others.” 

“But, Nefert, I do not know you again,” cried Bent- 
Anat. “ Is this my gentle, amiable dreamer?” 


UARDA. 


215 


“ That is the word I wanted,” said Nefert, in a low tone. 
“ I slept, and dreamed, and dreamed on — till Mena awoke 
me; and when he left me I went to sleep again, and for 
two whole years I have lain dreaming; but to-day I have 
been torn from my dreams so suddenly and roughly that I 
shall never find any rest again.” 

While she spoke heavy tears fell slowly one after another 
over her cheeks. 

Bent-Anat felt what she saw and heard as deeply as if 
Nefert were her own suffering child. She lovingly drew 
the young wife down by her side on the divan, and in- 
sisted on Nefert’s letting her know all that troubled her 
spirit. 

KatutTs daughter had in the last few hours felt like one 
born blind, and who suddenly receives his sight. He looks 
at the brightness of the sun, and the manifold forms of 
the creation around him, but the beams of the day-star 
blind his eyes, and the new forms, which he has sought to 
guess at in his mind, and which throng round him in their 
rude reality, shock him and pain him. To-day, for the 
first time, she had asked herself wherefore her mother, 
and not she herself, was called upon to control the house 
of which she nevertheless was called the mistress, and the 
answer had rung in her ears: “ Because Mena thinks you 
incapable of thought and action.” He had often called 
her his little rose, and she felt now that she was neither 
more nor less than a flower that blossoms and fades, and 
only charms the eye by its color and beauty. 

“My mother,” she said to Bent-Anat, “no doubt loves 
me, but she has managed badly for Mena, very badly; and 
I, miserable idiot, slept and dreamed of Mena, and 
saw and heard nothing of what was happening to his — 
to our — inheritance. Now my mother is afraid of my 
husband, and those whom we fear, says my uncle, we can- 
not love, and we are always ready to believe evil of those 
we do not love. So she lends an ear to those people who 
blame Mena, and say of him that he has driven me out of 
his heart, and has taken a strange woman to his tent. But 
it is false and a lie; and I cannot and will not countenance 
mv own mother even, if she embitters and mars what is 
left to me — what supports me — the breath and blood of 
my life — my love, my fervent love for my husband.” 


216 


VARDA. 


Bent-Anat had listened to her without interrupting her; 
she sat by her for a time in silence. Then she said : 

“Come out into the gallery; then I will tell you what I 
think, and perhaps Toth may pour some helpful counsel 
into my mind. I love you, and I know you well, and 
though I am not wise, I have my eyes open and a strong 
hand. Take it, come with me on to the balcony.” 

A refreshing breeze met the two women as they stepped 
out into the air. It was evening, and a reviving coolness 
had succeeded the heat of the day. The buildings and 
houses already cast long shadows,' and numberless boats, 
with the visitors returning from the Necropolis, crowded 
the stream that rolled its swollen flood majestically 
northward. 

Close below lay the verdant garden, which sent odors 
from the rose-beds up to the princess’ balcony. A famous 
artist had laid it out in the time of Hatasu, and the picture 
which he had in his mind, when he sowed the seed and 
planted the young shoots, was now realized, many decades 
after his death. He had thought of planning a carpet, on 
which the palace should seem to stand. Tiny streams, in 
bends and curves, formed the outline of the design, and 
the shapes they inclosed were filled with plants of every 
size, form, and color; beautiful plants of fresh green turf 
everywhere represented the ground-work of the pattern, 
and flower-beds and clumps of shrubs stood out from them 
in harmonious mixture of colors, while the tall and rare 
trees, of which Hatasu’s ships had brought several from 
Arabia, gave dignity and impressiveness to the whole. 

Clear drops sparkled on leaf and flower and blade, for, 
only a short time before, the garden by Bent-Anat’s house 
had been freshly watered. The Nile beyond surrounded 
an island, where flourished the well-kept sacred grove of 
Amon. 

The Necropolis on the farther side of the river was also 
well seen from Bent-Anat’s balcony. There stood in long 
perspective the rows of sphinxes, which led from the land- 
ing-place of the festal barges to the gigantic buildings of 
Amenophis III, with its colossi— the hugest in Thebes— to 
the House of Seti, and to the temple of Hatasu. There 
lay the long work-shops of the embalmers and closely 
packed homes of the inhabitants of the City of the Dead. 


VARDA. 


217 


In the farthest west rose the Libyan mountains with their 
innumerable graves, and the valley of the king's tombs 
took a wide curve behind, concealed by a spur of the hills. 

The two women looked in silence toward the west. The 
sun was near the horizon — now it touched it, now it sank 
behind the hills; and as the heavens flushed with hues 
like living gold, blazing rubies, and liquid garnet and 
amethyst, the evening chant rang out from all the temples, 
and the friends sank on their knees, hid their faces in the 
bowery rose garlands that clung to the trellis, and prayed 
with full hearts. 

When they rose night was spreading over the landscape, 
for the twilight is short in Thebes. Here and there a rosy 
cloud fluttered across the darkening sky, and faded grad- 
ually as the evening star appeared. 

“I am content," said Bent-Anat. “And you? have 
you recovered your peace of mind?" 

Nefert shook her head. The princess drew her on to a 
seat, and sank down beside her. Then she began again: 

“Your heart is sore, poor child; they have spoiled the 
past for you, and you dread the future. Let me be frank 
with you, even if it gives you pain. You are sick, and I 
must cure you. Will you listen to me?" 

“ Speak on," said Nefert. 

“ Speech does not suit me so well as action," replied the 
princess; “ but I believe I know what you need, and can 
help you. You love your husband; duty calls him from 
you, and you feel lonely and neglected; that is quite nat- 
ural. But those whom I love, my father and my brothers, 
are also gone to the war; my mother is long since dead; 
the noble woman, whom the king left to be my companion, 
was laid low a few weeks since by sickness. Look what a 
half-abandoned spot my house is! Which is the lonelier do 
you think, you or I?" 

“ I," said ISTefert. “ For no one is so lonely as a wife 
parted from the husband her heart longs after." 

“ But you trust Mena's love for you?" asked Bent-Anat. 

Nefert pressed her hand to her heart and nodded assent. 

“ And he will return, and with him your happiness." 

“I hope so," said Nefert, softly. 

“And he who hopes," said Bent-Anat, “possesses al- 
ready the joys of the future. Tell me, would you have 


218 


VARDA. 


changed places with the gods sd long as Mena was with 
yon? No! Then you are most fortunate, for blissful 
memories — the joys of the past — are yours at any rate. 
What is the present? I speak of it, and it is no more. 
Now, I ask you, what joys can I look forward to, and 
what certain happiness am I justified in hoping for?” 

“ Thou dost not love any one,” replied Nefert. “ Thou 
dost follow thy own course, calm and undeviating as 
the moon above us. The highest joys are unknown to 
thee, but for the same reason thou dost not know the bit- 
terest pain.” 

“ What pain?” asked the princess. 

“The torment of a heart consumed by the fires of 
Sechet,” replied Nefert. 

The princess looked thoughtfully at the ground, then 
she turned her eyes eagerly on her friend. 

“ You are mistaken,” she said; “ I know what love and 
longing are. But you need only wait till a feast day to 
wear the jewel that is your own, while my treasure is no 
more mine than a pearl that I see gleaming at the bottom 
of the sea. 

“ Thou canst love!” exclaimed Nefert, with joyful excite- 
ment. “Oh! I thank Hathor that at last she has touched 
thy heart. The daughter of Bameses need not even send 
for the diver to fetch the jewel out of the sea; at a sign 
from her the pearl will rise of itself, and lie on the sand at 
her slender feet.” 

Bent-Anat smiled and kissed Nefert’s brow. 

“ How it excites you,” she said, “and stirs your heart 
and tongue! If two strings are tuned in harmony, and one 
is struck, the other sounds, my music-master tells me. I 
believe you would listen to me till morning if I only talked 
to you about my love. But it was not for that that we 
came out on the balcony. Now listen! I am as lonely as 
you, I love less happily than you, the House of Seti 
threatens me with evil times — and yet I can preserve my 
full confidence in life and my joy in existence. How can 
you explain this?” 

“We are so very different,” said Nefert. 

“ True,” replied Bent-Anat, “ but we are both young, 
both women, and bo'th wisli to do right. My mother died, 
and I have had no one to guide me, fori who for the most 


VARDA . 


219 


part need some one to lead me can already command and 
be obeyed. You had a mother to bring you up, who, when 
you were still a child, was proud of her pretty little daugh- 
ter, and let her — as it became her so well — dream and play, 
without warning her against the dangerous propensity. 
Then Mena courted you. You love him truly, and in four 
long years lie has been with you but a month or two; your 
mother remained with you, and you hardly observed that 
she was managing your own house for you, and took all the 
trouble of the household. You had a great pastime of your 
own — your thoughts of Mena, and scope for a thousand 
dreams in your distant love. I know it, Yefert; all that 
you have seen and heard and felt in these twenty months 
has centered in him and him alone. Nor is it wrong in 
itself. The rose-tree here, which clings to my balcony, 
delights us both; but if the gardener did not frequently 
prune it and tie it with palm-bast, in this soil, which 
forces everything to rapid growth, it would soon shoot up 
so high that it would cover door and window, and I should 
sit in darkness. Throw this handkerchief over your shoul- 
ders, for the dew falls as it grows cooler, and listen to me 
a little longer! The beautiful passion of love and fidelity 
has grown unchecked in your dreamy nature to such a 
height that it darkens your spirit and your judgment. 
Love, a true love, it seems to me, should be a noble fruit- 
tree, and not a rank weed. I do not blame you, for she 
who should have been the gardener did not heed — and 
would not heed — what was happening. Look, Nefert, so 
long as I wore the lock of youth, I too did what I fancied. 
I never found any pleasure in dreaming, but in wild games 
with my brothers, in horses, and in falconry; * they often 
said I had the spirit of a boy, and indeed I would will- 
ingly have been a boy.” 

“ Not I — never!” said Nefert. 

“ You are just a rose, my dearest,” said Bent-Anat. 
“Well! when I was fifteen I was so discontented, so in- 
subordinate and full of all sorts of wild behavior, so 
dissatisfied, in spite of all the kindness and love that 
surrounded me — but I will tell you what happened. It 
is four years ago, shortly before your wedding with 

* In many papyri of the period of this narrative the training of 
falcons is mentioned. 


.220 


UARDA. 


Mena; my father called me to play draughts.* You 
know how certainly he could beat the most skillful an- 
tagonist; but that day his thoughts were wandering, and 
I won the game twice following. Full of insolent de- 
light, I jumped up and kissed his great handsome 
forehead, and cried ‘ The sublime god, the hero, under 
whose feet the strange nations writhe, to whom the priests 
and the people pray — is beaten by a girl He smiled 
gently, and answered, the lords of Heaven are often out- 
done by the ladies, and Necheb,f the lady of victory, is a 
woman/ Then he grew graver, and said: ‘You call me a 
god, my child, but in this only do I feel truly god-like, 
that at every moment I strive to the utmost to prove myself 
useful by my labors; here restraining, there promoting, as 
is needful.]; God-like I can never be but by doing or pro- 
ducing something great!’ These words, Nefert, fell like 
seed in my soul. At last I knew what it was that was 
wanting to me; and when, a few weeks later, my father 
and your husband took the field with a hundred thousand 
fighting men, I resolved to-be worthy of my god -like 
father, and in my little circle to be of use too! You do 
not know all that is done in the houses behind there, 
under my direction. Three hundred girls spin pure flax, 
and weave it into bands of linen for the wounds of the sol- 
diers; numbers of children, and old women, gather plants 
on the mountains, and others sort them according to the 
instructions of a physician; in the kitchens no banquets 
are prepared, but fruits are preserved in sugar for the 
loved ones, and the sick in the camp. Joints of meat are 
salted, dried, and smoked for the army on its march 
through the desert. The butler no longer thinks of drink- 
ing-bouts, but brings me wine in great stone jars; we pour 


*At Medinet Habu a picture represents Raineses the Third, not 
Rameses the Second, playing at draughts with his daughter. 

f The Eileithyia of the Greeks. The goddess of the South, in con- 
tradistinction to Buto, the goddess of the North. She often flies, in 
the form of a vulture, as the goddess of victory at the head of the 
troops led to war by the Pharaoh. 

X The crook-shaped staff, and the whip or scourge are emblems 
rarely missing from the representations of the Pharaohs, and several 
of the gods; they probably refer to the duty of a king, who must 
exercise both restraint and coercion. 


VARDA. 


221 


it into well-closed skins for the soldiers, and the best sorts 
we put into strong flasks, carefully sealed with pitch, that 
they may perform the journey uninjured, and warm and 
rejoice the hearts of our heroes. All that, and much 
more, I manage and arrange, and my days pass in hard 
work. The gods send me no bright visions in the night 
for after utter fatigue I sleep soundly. But I know that I 
am of use. I can hold my head proudly, because in some 
degree I resemble my great father; and if the king thinks 
of me at all I know he can rejoice in the doings of his 
child. That is the end of it Nefert — and I only say, come 
and join me, work with me, prove yourself of use, and 
compel Mena to think of his wife, not with affection only, 
but with pride.” Nefert let her head sink slowly on Bent- 
Anafs bosom, threw her arms round her neck, and wept 
like a child. At last she composed herself and said 
humbly: 

“Take me to school, and teach me to be useful.” 

“ I knew,” said the princess, smiling, “ that you only 
needed a guiding hand. Believe me, you will soon learn 
to couple content and longing. But now hear this! At 
present go home to your mother, for it is late; and meet 
her lovingly, for that is the will of the gods. To-morrow 
morning I will go to see you, and beg Katuti to let you come 
to me as companion in the place of my lost friend. The 
day after to-morrow you will come to me in the palace. 
You can live in the rooms of my departed friend and begin, 
as she had done, to help me in my work. May these hours 
be blest to you!” 


CHAPTER XXII. 

At the time of this conversation the leech Nebsecht 
still lingered in front of the hovel of the paraschites, and 
waited with growing impatience for the old man’s return. 

At first he trembled for him; then he entirely forgot 
the danger into which he had thrown him, and only 
hoped for the fulfillment of his desires, and for wonder- 
ful revelations through his investigations of the human 
heart. 

For some minutes he gave himself up to scientific 


222 


UARDA. 


considerations; but be became more and more agitated by 
anxiety for the paraschites, and by the exciting vicinity of 
IJarda. 

For hours he had been alone with her, for her father 
and grandmother could no longer stop away from their 
occupations. The former must go to escort prisoners of 
war to Hermonthis, and the old woman, since her grand- 
daughter had been old enough to undertake the small 
duties of the household, had been one of the wailing- 
women, who, with hair all disheveled, accompanied the 
corpse on its way to the grave, weeping and lamenting, 
and casting Nile-mud on their forehead and breast. 
Uarda still lay, when the sun was sinking, in front of the 
hut. 

She looked weary and pale. Her long hair had come 
undone, and once more got entangled with the straw of 
her humble couch. If Nebsecht went near her to feel her 
pulse or to speak to her she carefully turned her face from 
him. 

Nevertheless when the sun disappeared behind the rocks 
he bent over her once more, and said: 

“ It is growing cool; shall I carry you indoors?” 

“Let me alone,” she said, crossly. “Iam hot, keep 
further away. I am no longer ill, and could go indoors 
by myself if I wished; but grandmother will be here 
directly.” 

Nebsecht rose, and sat down on a hen-coop that was 
some paces from Uarda, and asked stammering: 

“ Shall I go further off?” 

“ Do as you please,” she answered. 

“ You are not kind,” he said, sadly. 

“You sit looking at me,” said Uarda. “ I cannot bear 
it; and I am uneasy — for grandfather was quite different 
this morning from his usual self, and talked strangely 
about dying, and about the great price that was asked of 
him for curing me. Then he begged me never to forget 
him, and was so excited and so strange. He is so long 
away; I wish he were here with me.” 

And with these words Uarda began to cry silently. A 
nameless anxiety for the paraschites seized Nebsecht, and 
it struck him to the heart that he had demanded a human 
life in return for the mere fulfillment of a duty. He 


UARDA . 


223 


knew the law well enough, and knew that the old man 
would be compelled without respite or delay to empty the 
cup of poison if he were found guilty of the theft of a 
human heart. 

It was dark; Uarda ceased weeping, and said to the 
surgeon: 

“ Can it be possible that he has gone into the city to 
borrow the great sum of money that thou— or thy temple— 
demandest for thy medicine? But there is the princess* 
golden bracelet, and half of father’s prize, and in the 
chest two years* wages that grandmother has earned by 
wailing, lie untouched. Is all that not enough?** 

The girl’s last question was full of resentment and re- 
proach, and Nebsecht, whose perfect sincerity was part of 
his very being, was silent, as he would not venture to say 
yes. He had asked more in return for his help than gold 
or silver. Now he remembered Pentaur’s warning, and 
when the jackals began to bark he took up the fire- 
stick,* and lighted some fuel that was lying ready. Then 
he asked himself what Uarda’s fate would be without her 
grandparents, and a strange plan, which had floated 
vaguely before him for some hours, began now to take a 
distinct outline and intelligible form. He determined if 
the old man did not return to ask the kolchytes or em- 
balmers to admit him into their guildf — and for the sake 
of his adroitness they were not likely to refuse him — then 
he would make Uarda his wife, and live apart from the 
world, for her, for his studies, and for his new calling, in 
which he hoped to learn a great deal. What did he care 
for comfort or proprieties, for recognition from his fellow- 
men, and a superior position! 

He could hope to advance more quickly along the new 
stony path than on the old beaten track. The impulse to 
communicate his acquired knowledge to others he did not 
feel. Knowledge in itself amply satisfied him, and he 
thought no more of his ties to the House of Seti. For 


* Tlie hieroglyphic sign seems to me to represent the wooden 
stick used to produce fire (as among some savage tribes) by rapid 
friction in a hollow piece of wood. 

f This guild still existed in Roman times, and we have much infor- 
mation about it in various Greek papyri. 


224 


UARDA. 


three whole days he had not changed his garments, no 
razor had touched his chin or his scalp, not a drop of 
water had wetted his hands or his feet. He felt half be- 
wildered and almost as if he had already become an em- 
balmer, nay even a paraschites, one of the most despised 
of human beings. This self-degration had an infinite 
charm, for it brought him down to the level of Uarda, and 
she, lying near him, sick and anxious, with her disheveled 
hair, exactly suited the future which he painted to himself. 

“Do you hear nothing?” Uarda asked, suddenly. 

He listened. In the valley there was a barking of dogs, 
and soon the paraschites and his wife appeared, and, at 
the door of their hut, took leave of old Hekt, who had met 
them on her return from Thebes. 

“ You have been gone a long time,” cried Uarda, when 
her grandmother once more stood before her. “ I have 
been so frightened.” 

“The doctor was with you,” said the old woman, going 
into the house to prepare their simple meal, while the 
paraschites knelt down by his granddaughter, and caressed 
her tenderly, but yet with respect, as if he were her faith- 
ful servant rather than her blood relation. 

Then he rose, and gave to Nebsecht, who was trembling 
with excitement, the bag of coarse linen which he was in 
the habit of carrying tied to him by a narrow belt. 

“The heart is in that,” he whispered to the leech; 
“ take it out, and give me back the bag, for my knife is 
in it, and I want it.” 

Nebsecht took the heart out of the covering with trem- 
bling hands, and laid it carefully down. Then he felt in 
the breast of his dress, and going up to the paraschites he 
whispered: 

“ Here, take the writing, hang it round your neck, and 
when you die I will have the book of scripture wrapped up 
in your mummy-clotlis like a great man. But that is not 
enough. The property that I inherited is in the hands of 
my brother, who is a good man of business, and I have not 
touched the interest for ten years. I will send it to you, 
and you and your wife shall enjoy an old age free from 
care.” 

The paraschites had taken the little bag with the strip 
of papyrus, and heard the leech to the end. Then he 


UARDA. 


225 


turned from him saying: “ Keep thy money; we are quits. 
1 hat is if the child gets well,” he added, humbly. 

“ She is already half cured,” stammered Nebsecht. “ But 
why will you — why won't you accept ” 

“ Because till to-day I have never begged nor borrowed,” 
said the paraschites, “and I will not begin in my old age. 
Life for life. But what I have done this day not Raineses 
with all his treasure could repay.” 

Nebsecht looked down, and knew not how to answer the 
old man. 

His wife now came out; she set a bowl of lentils that she 
had hastily warmed before the two men, with radishes and 
onions,* then she helped Uarda, who did not need to be 
carried, into the house, and invited Nebsecht to share their 
meal. He accepted her invitation, for he had eaten 
nothing since the previous evening. 

When the old woman had once more disappeared in- 
doors, he asked the paraschites: 

> “Whoso heart is it that you have brought me, and how 
did it come into your hands?” 

“ Tell me first,” said the other, “ why thou hast laid 
such a heavy sin upon my soul?” 

“Because I want to investigate the structure of the 
human heart,” said Nebsecht, “so that, when I meet with 
diseased hearts, I may be able to cure them.” 

The paraschites looked for a long time at the ground in 
silence; then he said: 

“ Art thou speaking the truth?” 

“ Yes,” replied the leech with convincing emphasis. 

“ I am glad,” said the old man, “ for thou givest help 
to the poor.” 

“As willingly as to the rich !” exclaimed Nebsecht. 
“But tell me now where you got the heart.” 

“ I went into the house of the embalmer,” said the old 
man, after he had selected a few large flints, to which, 
with crafty blows, he gave the shape of knives, “ and there 
I found three bodies in which I had to make the eight 


* Radishes, onions and garlic were the hors-d’oeuvre of an Egypt- 
ian dinner. Sixteen hundred talents worth were consumed, accord- 
ing to Herodotus, during the building of the pyramid of Cheops, 
equal to £360,000. 


226 


UARDA. 


prescribed incisions with my flint knife. When the dead 
lie there undressed on the wooden bench they all look 
alike, and the beggar lies as still as the favorite son of a 
king. But I knew very well who lay before me. The 
strong old body in the middle of the table was the corpse 
of the superior of the temple of Hatasu, and beyond it, 
close by each other, were laid a stone-mason of the Necropo- 
lis, and a poor girl from the strangers* quarter, who had 
died of consumption — two miserable wasted figures. I had 
known the prophet well, for I had met him a hundred 
times in his gilt litter, and we always called him Rui, 
the rich. I did my duty by all three, I was driven away 
with the usual stoning, and then I arranged the inward 
parts of the bodies with my mates. Those of the prophet 
are to be preserved later in an alabaster canopus,* those of 
the mason and the girl were put back in their bodies. 

“ Then I went up to the three bodies, and I asked my- 
self, to which I should do such a wrong as to rob him of 
his heart. I turned to the two poor ones, and I hastily 
went up to the sinning girl. Then I heard the voice of 
the demon that cried out in my heart: ‘ The girl was poor 
and despised like you while she walked on Seb,f perhaps 
she may find compensation and peace in the other world if 
you do not mutilate her;* and when I turned to the mason*s 
lean corpse, and looked at his hands, which were harder 
and rougher than my own, the demon whispered the same. 
Then I stood before the strong, stout corpse of the prophet 
Rui, who died of apoplexy, and I remembered the honor 
and the riches that he had enjoyed on earth, and that he 
at least for a time had known happiness and ease. And as 
soon as I was alone, I slipped my hand into the bag, and 
changed the sheep*s heart for his. 

“ Perhaps I am doubly guilty for playing such an ac- 
cursed trick with the heart of a high-priest; but Rui*sbody 


* This vase was called canopus at a later date. There were four of 
them for each mummy. 

f Seb is the earth; Plutarch calls Seb Chronos. He is often spoken 
of as “the father of the gods” on the monuments. He is the 
god of time, and as the Egyptians regarded matter as eternal, it is 
not by accident that the sigh which represented' the earth was also 
used for eternity. 


UARDA. 


227 

will be hung round with a hundred amulets, Scarabsei* will 
be placed over his heart, and holy oil and sacred sentences 
will preserve him from all the fiends on his road toAmenti; 
while no one will devote helping talismans to the poor. 
And then! thou hast sworn, in that world, in the hall of 
judgment, to take my guilt on thyself.” 

Nebsecht gave the old man his hand. 

“ That I will,” said he, “and I should have chosen as 
you did. Now take this draught, divide it into four parts, 
and give it to Uarda for four evenings following. Begin 
this evening, and by the day after to-morrow I think she 
will be quite well. I will come again and look after her. 
Now go to rest, and let me stay a while out here; before 
the star of Isis is extinguished I will be gone, for they have 
long been expecting me at the temple.” 

When the paraschites came out of his hut the next morn- 
ing, Nebsecht had vanished; but a blood-stained cloth that 
lay by the remains of the fire showed the old man that the 
impatient investigator had examined the heart of the high- 
priest during the night, and perhaps cut it up. 

Terror fell upon him, and in agony of mind he threw 
himself on his knees as the golden bark of the Sun-god ap- 
peared on the horizon, and prayed fervently, first for 
Uarda, and then for the salvation of his imperiled soul. 

He rose encouraged, convinced himself that his grand- 
daughter was progressing toward recovery, bid farewell to 
his wife, took his flint knife and his bronze hook, and 
went to the house of the embalmer to follow his dismal 
calling. 

The group of buildings in which the greater number of 
the corpses from Thebes went through the processes of 
mummifying, lay on the bare desert-land at some distance 
from his hovel, southward from the House of Seti at the 
foot of the mountain. They occupied by themselves a 
fairly large space, inclosed by a rough wall of dried mud- 
bricks. 

The bodies were brought in through the great gate 

* Imitations of the sacred beetle Scarabseus, made of various 
materials, were frequently put into the mummies in the place of the 
heart. Large specimens have often the twenty-sixth, thirtieth, and 
sixty-fourth chapters of the Book of the Dead engraved on them, as 
they treat of the heart. 


228 


UARDA. 


toward the Nile, and delivered to the kolchytes; while the 
priests, paraschites, and taricheutes, bearers and assistants 
who here did their daily work, as well as innumerable 
water-carriers who came up from the Nile, loaded with 
skins, found their way into the establishment by a side 
gate. 

At the furthest northern end stood a handsome building 
of wood, with a separate gate, in which the orders of the 
bereaved were taken, and often indeed those of men still 
in active life, who thought to provide betimes for their 
suitable interment.* 

The crowd in this house was considerable. About fifty 
men and women were moving in it at the present moment, 
all of different ranks; and not only from Thebes but from 
many smaller towns of upper Egypt, to make purchases 
or to give commissions to the functionaries who were busy 
here. 

This bazar of the dead was w T ell supplied, for coffins of 
every form stood up against the walls, from the simplest 
chest to the richly gilt and painted coffer, in form re- 
sembling a mummy. On wooden shelves lay endless rolls 
of coarse and fine linen, in which the limbs of the mum- 
mies were enveloped, and which were manufactured by 
the people of the embalming establishment under the pro- 
tection of the tutelar goddesses of weavers, Neith, Isis and 
Nephthys, though some were ordered from a distance, par- 
ticularly from Sais. 

There was free choice for the visitors of this pattern- 
room in the matter of mummy-cases and cloths, as well as 
of necklets, scarabsei, statuettes, Uza-eyes, girdles, head- 
rests, triangles, split-rings, staves, and other symbolic ob- 
jects, which were attached to the dead as sacred amulets, 
or bound up in the wrappings. 


*The well-known passages in Herodotus and in Diodorus, are 
amply supported by tlie manuscripts of the ancient Egyptians. In 
Maspero’s able work on a papyrus published by Mariette, and on 
one in the Louvre, we have a mass of hitherto unknown details on 
the ritual for embalming. Czermak’s physiological investigation of 
two mummies led to very interesting results, and demonstrated the 
wonderful preservation of even the most delicate tissues. His 
researches were printed in “ Sitzungsberichten der k. k. Akademie 
der Wissenschaften,” Vienna, 1852. The bilingual papyrus of Rhind 
also affords valuable information. 


VARDA. 


m 


There were innumerable stamps of baked clay, which 
were buried in the earth to show any one who might dis- 
pute the limits, how far each grave extended, images of the 
gods, which were laid in the sand to purify and sanctify * 
it — for by nature it belonged to Seth-Typhon — as well as 
the figures called Schebti, which were either inclosed 
several together in little boxes, or laid separately in the 
grave; it was supposed that they would 'help the dead to 
till the fields of the blessed with the pick-ax, plow, and 
seed-bag which they carried on their shoulders. 

The widow and the steward of the wealthy superior 
of the temple of Hatasu, and with them a priest of high 
rank, were in eager discussion with the officials of the 
embalming-house, and were selecting the most costly of 
the patterns of mummy-cases which were offered to their 
inspection, the finest linen, and amulets of malachite, and 
lapis-lazuli, of blood-stone, carnelian and green felspar,! 
as well as the most elegant alabaster canopi for the deceased; 
his body was to be inclosed first in a sort of case of papier- 
mache, and then in a wooden and a stone coffin. They 
wrote his, name on a wax tablet which was ready for the 
purpose, with those of his parents, his wife and children, 
and all his titles ; they ordered what verses should be 
written on his coffin, what on the papyrus-rolls to be 
inclosed in it, and what should be set out above his name. 
With regard to the inscription on the walls of the tomb, 
the pedestal of the statue to be placed there, and the face 
of the stele to be erected in it, yet further particulars 
would be given; a priest of the temple of Seti was charged 
to write them, and to draw up a catalogue of the rich 
offerings of the survivors. The last could be done later, 
when, after the division of the property, the amount of the 
fortune he had left could be ascertained. The mere mum- 
mifying of the body with the finest oils and essences, cloths, 


* Tlie purpose of tlie amulets is in most cases known, as almost 
every one has a chapter of the book of the dead devoted to it. Tbe 
little clay cones and images are found in vast numbers, and may be 
met with in every museum. 

f The use of this material proves the extent of commerce in these 
early times, for green felspar is now known to be found only in 
countries remote from Egypt. 


230 tTAftDA . 

amulets, and cases, would cost a talent of silver, without the 
stone sarcophagus. 

The widow wore a long mourning-robe, her forehead was 
lightly daubed with Nile-mud, and in the midst' of her 
chaffering with the functionaries of the embalming-house, 
whose prices she complained of as enormous and rapacious, 
from time to time she broke out into a loud wail of grief — 
as the occasion demanded. 

More modest citizens finished their commissions sooner, 
though it was not unusual for the income of a whole year 
to be sacrificed for the embalming of the head of a house- 
hold — the father or the mother of a family. The mum- 
mifying of the poor was cheap, and that of the poorest had 
to be provided by the kolchytes as a tribute to the king, 
to whom also they were obliged to pay a tax in linen 
from their looms. 

This place of business was carefully separated from the 
rest of the establishment, which none but those who were 
engaged in the processes carried on there were on any 
account permitted to enter. The kolchytes formed a 
closely-limited guild at the head of which stood a certain 
number of priests, and from among them the masters of 
the many thousand members were chosen. This guild was 
highly respected, even the taricheutes, who were entrusted 
with the actual work of embalming, could venture to mix 
with the other citizens, although in Thebes itself people 
always avoided them with a certain horror; only the para- 
schites, whose duty it was to open the bod}', bore the whole 
curse of uncleanness. Certainly the place where • these 
people fulfilled* their office was dismal enough. 

The stone chamber in which the' bodies were opened, 
and the halls in which they were prepared with salt, had 
adjoining them a variety of laboratories and depositories 
for drugs and preparations of every description. 

In a court-yard, protected from the rays of the sun 
only by an awning, was a large walled basin, containing 
a solution of natron, in which the bodies were salted, and 
they were then dried in a stone vault, artificially supplied 
with hot air. 

The little wooden houses of the weavers, as well as the 
work-shops of the case- joiners and decorators, stood in num- 
bers round the pattern-room; but the farthest off, and 


VARDA. 


231 

much the largest of the buildings of the establishment, 
was a very long low structure, solidly built of stone and 
well roofed in, where the prepared bodies were enveloped 
in their cerements, tricked out in amulets, and made 
ready for then* journey to the next world. What took 
place in this building — into which the laity were admitted, 
but never for more than a few minutes- 3 - was to the last 
degree mysterious, for here the gods themselves appeared 
to be engaged with the mortal bodies. * 

. of fc he windows which opened on the street, recita- 
tions, hymns, and lamentations sounded night and day. 
The priests who fulfilled their office here wore masks like 
the divinities of the under-world.* Many were the rep- 
resentatives of Anubis, with the jackal-head, assisted by 
boys with masks of the so-called child-Horus. At the 
head of each mummy stood or squatted a wailing-woman 
with the emblems of Nephthys, and one at its feet with 
those of Isis. 

Every separate limb of the deceased was dedicated to a 
particular divinity by the aid of holy oils, charms, and 
sentences; a specially prepared cloth was wrapped round 
each muscle, every drug and every bandage owed its origin 
to some divinity, and the confusion of sounds, of dis- 
guised figures, and of various perfumes, had a stupefy- 
ing effect on those who visited this chamber. It need 
not be said that the whole embalming establishment and 
its neighborhood was enveloped in a cloud of powerful 
resinous fumes, of sweet attar, of lasting musk, and of 
pungent spices. 

When the wind blew from the west it was wafted 
across the Nile to Thebes, and this was regarded as an 
evil omen, for from the south-west comes the wind that 
enfeebles the energy of men — the fatal simoon. 

In the court of the pattern-house stood several groups 
of citizens from Thebes, gathered round different indi- 
viduals, to whom they were expressing their sympathy. 
A new comer, the superintendent of the victims of the 

* There are many indications of this in the tomb paintings, and a 
papyrus (III. of the museum at Bulaq) confirms the idea. The art 
of molding masks in a paste resembling papier-mache was early 
known to the Egyptians, and such a mask of the dead is not 
unfrequently found at the head of mummy cases. 


232 


UARDA. 


temple of Amon, who seemed to be known to many and 
was greeted with respect, announced, even before he 
went to condole with Rui's widow, in a tone full of hor- 
ror at what had happened, that an omen, significant of the 
greatest misfortune, had occurred in Thebes, in a spot no 
less sacred than the very temple of Am on himself. 

Many inquisitive listeners stood round him while he re- 
lated that the regent Ani, in his joy at the victory of 
his troops in Ethiopia, had distributed wine with a lavish 
hand to the garrison of Thebes, and also to the watchmen 
of the temple of Amon, and that, while the people 
were carousing, wolves* had broken into the stable 
of the sacred rams.f Some were killed, but the noblest 
ram, which Rameses himself had sent as a gift from Mendes 
when he set out for the war — the magnificent beast which 
Amon had chosen as the tenement of his spirit, J was 
found, torn in pieces, by the soldiers, who immediately 
terrified the whole city with the news. At the same hour 
news had come from Memphis that the sacred bull Apis 
was dead. 

All the people who had collected round the priest, broke 
out into a far-sounding cry of woe, in which he himself 
and Rui’s widow vehemently joined. 

The buyers and functionaries rushed out of the pattern- 
room, and from the mummy-house the taricheutes, paras- 
chites and assistants; the weavers left their looms, and all, 
as soon as they had learned what had happened, took part 
in the lamentations, howling and wailing, tearing their 
hair and covering their faces with dust. 

* Wolves have now disappeared from Egypt ; they were sacred 
animals, and were worshiped and buried at Lykopolis, the present 
Siut, where mummies of wolves have been found. Herodotus says 
that if a wolf was found dead he was buried, and Elian states that 
the herb Lylcoktonon, which was poisonous to wolves, might on no 
account be brought into the city, where they were held sacred. 

f There was also a bull which was sacred to Amon. 

X The ram was especially worshiped at Mendes. The ruins of this 
city have been found at a short distance from Mansura in the Delta, 
and Brugscli has interpreted some inscriptions which were found 
there, and which throw new light on the worship of the ram, and 
on the accounts of it which have been handed down to us. The ram 
is called “Ba,” which is also the name for the Soul, and the 
sacred rams were supposed to bji the living embodiment of the soul 
of Ra. 


UARDA. 


233 

n oise was loud and distracting, and when its violence 
diminished, and the work-people went back to their busi- 
ness, the east wind brought the echo of the cries of the 
dwellers in the Necropolis, perhaps too, those of the citi- 
zens of Thebes itself. 

“ Bad news,” said the inspector of the victims, “ cannot 
fail to reach us soon from the king and the army; he will 
regret the death of the ram which we called by his name 
more than that of Apis. It is a bad — a very bad omen.” 

“ My lost husband Rui, who rests in Osiris, foresaw it 
all,” said the widow. “ If only I dared to speak I could 
tell a good deal that many might find unpleasant.” 

The inspector of sacrifices smiled, for he knew that the 
late superior of the temple of Hatasu had been an adherent 
of the old royal family, and he replied: 

“ The Sun of Raineses may be for a time covered with 
clouds, but neither those who fear it nor those who desire 
it will live to see its setting.” 

The priest coldly saluted the lady, and went into the 
house of a weaver in which he had business, and the widow 
got into her litter which was waiting at the gate. 

The old paraschites Pinem had joined with his fellows in 
the lamentation for the sacred beasts, and was now sit- 
ting on the hard pavement of the dissecting-room to eat 
his morsel of food — for it was noon. 

The stone room in which he was eating his meal was 
badly lighted; the daylight came through a small opening 
in the roof, over which the sun stood perpendicularly, and 
a shaft of bright rays, in which danced the whirling motes, 
shot down through the twilight on to the stone pavement. 
Mummy-cases leaned against all the walls, and on smooth 
polished slabs lay bodies covered with coarse cloths. A rat 
scuttered now and then across the floor, and from the wide 
cracks between the stones sluggish scorpions crawled out. 

The old paraschites was long since blunted to the horror 
which pervaded this locality. He had spread a coarse 
napkin, and carefully laid on it the provisions which his 
wife had put into his satchel; first half a cake of bread, 
then a little salt, and finally a radish. 

But the bag was not yet empty. 

He put his hand in and found a piece of meat wrapped 
up in two cabbage-leaves. Old Hekt had brought a leg of 


234 


VARDA. 


a gazelle from Thebes for Uarda, and he now saw that the 
woman had pnt a piece of it into his little sack for his re- 
freshment. He looked at the gift with emotion, but he 
did not venture to touch it, for he felt as if in doing so he 
should be robbing the sick girl. While he eat the bread 
and the radish he contemplated the piece of meat as if it 
were some costly jewel, and when a fly dared to settle on it 
he drove it off indignantly. 

At last he tasted the meat, and thought of many former 
noonday meals, and how he had often found a flower in 
the satchel, that Uarda had placed there to please him, 
with the bread. His kind old eyes filled with tears, and 
his whole heart swelled with gratitude and love. He 
looked up, and his glance fell on the table, and he asked 
himself how he would have felt if instead of the old priest 
robbed of his heart, the sunshine of his old age, his grand- 
daughter, were lying there motionless. A cold shiver ran 
over him, and he felt that his own heart would not have 
been too great a price to pay for her recovery. And yet! 
In the course of his long life he had experienced so much 
suffering and wrong, that he could not imagine any hope 
of a better lot in the other world. Then he drew out the 
bond Nebsecht had given him, held it up with both hands, 
as if to show it to the Immortals, and particularly to the 
judges in the hall of truth and judgment, that they might 
not reckon with him for the crime he had committed — not 
for himself but for another — and that they might not re- 
fuse to justify Rui, whom he had robbed of his heart. 

While he thus lifted his soul in devotion, matters were 
getting warm outside the dissecting-room. He thought he 
heard his name spoken, and scarcely had he raised his 
head to listen when a taricheutes came in and desired him 
to follow him. 

In front of the rooms, filled with resinous odors and in- 
cense, in which the actual process of embalming was car- 
ried on, a number of taricheutes were standing and look- 
ing at an object in an alabaster bowl. The knees of the 
old man knocked together as he recognized the heart of 
the beast which he had substituted for that of the prophet. 

The chief of the taricheutes asked him whether he had 
opened the body of the dead priest. 

Pinem stammered out ‘ 4 Yes.” 


UARDA. 


235 


Whether this was his heart? 

The old man nodded affirmatively. 

The taricheutes looked at each other, whispered together; 
then one of them went away, and returned soon with the 
inspector of victims from the temple of Amon, whom he 
had found in the house of the weaver, and the chief of the 
kolchytes. 

“ Show me the heart,” said the superintendent of the 
sacrifices, as he approached the vase. “ I can decide in the 
dark if you have seen rightly. I examine a hundred ani- 
mals every day. Give it here! By all the Gods of Heaven 
and Hell that is the heart of a ram!” 

“ It was found in the breast of Rui,” said one of the 
taricheutes, decisively. “ It was opened yesterday in the 
presence of us all by this old paraschites.” 

“ It is extraordinary,” said the priest of Amon. “ And 
incredible. But perhaps an exchange was effected. Did 
you slaughter any victims here yesterday or ” 

“We are purifying ourselves,” the chief of the kolchy- 
tes interrupted, “for the great festival of the Valley, and 
for ten days no beast can have been killed here for food; 
besides, the stables and slaughter-houses are a long way 
from this, on the other side of the linen-factories.” 

“It is strange !” replied the priest. “ Preserve this 
heart carefully, kolchytes; or, better still, let it be inclosed 
in a case. We will take it over to the chief prophet of 
Amon. It would seem that some miracle has happened.” 

“ The heart belongs to the Necropolis,” answered the 
chief kolchytes, and it would therefore be more fitting if 
we took it to the chief priest of the temple of Seti, 
Ameni.” 

“ You command here!” said the other. “ Let us go.” 

In a few minutes the priest of Amon and the chief of 
the kolchytes were being carried toward the valley in their 
litters. A taricheute followed them, who sat on a seat be- 
tween two asses, and carefully carried a casket of ivory, in 
which reposed the ram's heart. 

The old paraschites watched the priests disappear behind 
the tamarisk bushes. He longed to run after them, and 
tell them everything. 

His conscience quaked with self-reproach, and . if his 
sluggish intelligence did not enable him to take in at a 


236 


UARDA. 


glance all the results that his deed might entail, he still 
could guess that he had sown a seed whence deceit of 
every kind must grow. He felt as if he had fallen alto- 
gether into sin and falsehood, and that the goddess of 
truth, whom he had all his life honestly served, had re- 
proachfully turned her back on him. After what had 
happened never could he hope to be pronounced a “truth- 
speaker” by the judges of the dead. Lost, thrown away, 
was the aim and end of a long life, rich in self-denial and 
prayer ! His soul shed tears of blood, a wild sighing 
sounded in his ears, which saddened his spirit, and when 
he went back to his work again, and wanted to remove the 
soles of the feet* from a body, his hand trembled so that 
he could not hold the knife. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

The news of the end of the sacred ram of Amon, and of 
the death of the bull Apis of Memphis, had reached the 
House of Seti, and was received there with loud lamenta- 
tion, in which all its inhabitants joined, from the chief 
haruspex down to the smallest boy in the school-courts. 

The superior of the institution, Ameni, had been for 
three days in Thebes, and was expected to return to-day. 
His arrival was looked for with anxiety and excitement by 
many. The chief of the haruspices was eager for it that he 
might hand over the imprisoned scholars to condign pun- 
ishment, and complain to him of Pentaur and Bent-Anat; 
the initiated knew that important transactions must have 
been concluded on the further side of the Nile; and the 
rebellious disciples knew that now stern justice would be 
dealt to them. 

The insurrectionary troop were locked into an open 
court upon bread and water, and as the usual room of 
detention of the establishment was too small for them all, 
for two nights they had had to sleep in a loft on thin 

*One of tlie mummies of Prague, which were dissected by 
Czermak, had the soles of the feet removed and laid on the breast. 
We learn from Chapter 125, of the Book of the Dead, that this was 
done that the sacred floor of the hall of judgment might not he 
defiled when the dead were summoned befor^ Osiris. 


UARDA. 


237 


straw mats. The young spirits were excited to the highest 
pitch, but each expressed his feelings in quite a different 
manner. 

Bent-AnaPs brother, Rameses’ son, Rameri, had experi- 
enced the same treatment as his fellows, whom yesterday 
he had led into every sort of mischief, with even more 
audacity than usual, but to-day he hung his head. 

In a corner of the court sat Anana, PentauPs favorite 
scholar, hiding his face in his hands, which rested on his 
knees. Rameri went up to him, touched his shoulder, and 
said: 

“ We have played the game, and now must bear the 
consequences for good and for evil. Are you not ashamed 
of yourself, old boy? Your eyes are wet and the drops 
here on your hands have not fallen from the clouds. You 
who are seventeen, and in a few months will be a scribe and 
a grown man!” 

Anana looked at the prince, dried his eyes quickly, and 
said: 

“I was the ringleader. Ameni will turn me out of the 
place, and I must return disgraced to my poor mother, who 
has no one in the world but me.” 

“Poor fellow!” said Rameri, kindly. “It was striking 
at random! If only our attempt had done Pentaur any 
good !” 

“ We have done him harm, on the contrary,” said 
Anana, vehemently, “and have behaved like fools!” 

Rameri nodded in full assent, looked thoughtful for a 
moment, and then said: 

“ Do you know, Anana, that you were not the ring- 
leader? The trick was planned in this crazy brain; I take 
the whole blame on my own shoulders. I am the son 
of Rameses, and Ameni will be less hard on me than on 
you.” 

“ He will examine us all,” replied Anana, “and I will 
be punished sooner than tell a lie.” 

Rameri colored. 

“ Have you ever known my tongue sin against the 
lovely daughter of Ra?” he exclaimed. “But look, here! 
did I stir up Antef, Hapi, Sent and all the others or no? 
Who but I advised you to find out Pentaur? Did I 
threaten to beg my father to take me from the school of 


238 


UARDA. 


Seti or not? I was the instigator of the mischief, I pulled 
the wires, and if we are questioned let me speak first. Not 
one of you is to mention Anana^s name; do you hear? not 
one of you, and if they flog us or deprive us of our food 
we all stick to this, that I was guilty of all the mischief.” 

“You are a brave fellow!” said the son of the chief 
priest of Amon, shaking his right hand, while Anana held 
his left. 

The prince freed himself laughing from their grasp. 

“Now the old man may come home,” he exclaimed, 
“\\e are ready for him. But all the same I will ask my 
father to send me to Chennu, as sure as my name is 
Rameri, if they do not recall Pentaur.” 

“ He treated us like school-boys!” said the eldest of the 
young malefactors. 

“And with reason,” replied Rameri. “ I respect him all 
the more for it. You all think I am a careless dog — but 
I have my own ideas, and I will speak the words of 
wisdom.” 

With these words he looked round on his companions 
with comical gravity, and continued — imitating Ameni’s 
manner: 

“ Great men are distinguished from little men by this — 
they scorn and contemn all which flatters their vanity, or 
seems to them for a moment desirable, or even useful, if it 
is not compatible with the laws which they recognize, or 
conducive to some great end which they have set before 
them; even though that end may not be reached till after 
their death. 

“I have learned this, partly from my father, but partly 
I have thought it out for myself; and now I ask you, 
could Pentaur as f a great man ' have dealt with us better?” , 

“You have put into words exactly what I myself have 
thought ever since yesterday,” cried Anana. “ We have 
behaved * like babies, and instead of carrying our point we 
have brought ourselves and Pentaur into disgrace.” 

The rattle of an approaching chariot was now audible, 
and Rameri exclaimed, interrupting Anana: 

“It is he. Courage, boys! Iam the guilty one. He 
will not dare to have me thrashed — but he will stab me 
with looks!” 

Ameni descended quickly from his chariot. The gate- 


UAUJDA. 


239 


keeper informed him that the chief of the kolchytes, and 
the inspector of victims from the temple of Amon, desired 
to speak with him. 

“ They must wait,” said the prophet, shortly. “ Show 
them meanwhile into the garden pavilion. Where is the 
chief haruspex?” 

He had hardly spoken when the vigorous old man for 
whom he was inquiring hurried to meet him, to make him 
acquainted with all .that had occurred in his absence. 
But the high-priest had already heard in Thebes all that 
his colleague was anxious to tell him. 

When Ameni was absent from the House of Seti, he caused 
accurate information to be brought to him every morning 
of what had taken place there. 

Now when the old man began his story he interrupted 
him. 

“ I know everything,” he said. “ The disciples cling to 
Pentaur, and have committed a folly for his sake, and you 
met the Princess Bent-Anat with him in the temple of 
Hatasu, to which he had admitted a woman of low rank 
before she had been purified. These are grave matters, 
and must be seriously considered, but not to-day. Make 
yourself easy; Pentaur will not escape punishment; but for 
to-day we must recall him to this temple, for we have need 
of him to-morrow for the solemnity of the feast of the 
Valley. No one shall meet him as an enemy till he is con- 
demned; I desire this of you, and charge you to repeat it 
to the others.” 

The haruspex endeavored to represent to his superior 
what a scandal would arise from this untimely clemency; 
but Ameni did not allow him to talk, he demanded his 
ring back, called a young priest, delivered the precious sig- 
net into his charge, and desired him to get into his chariot 
that was waiting at the door, and carry to Pentaur the com- 
mand, in his name, to return to the temple of Seti. 

The haruspex submitted, though deeply vexed, and 
asked whether the guilty boys were also to go unpunished. 

“No more than Pentaur,” answered Ameni. “ But can 
you call this school-boy’s trick guilt? Leave the children 
to their fun, and their imprudence. The educator is the 
destroyer, if he always and only keeps his eyes open, and 
cannot close them at the right moment. Before life de- 


240 


UARDA. 


mands of us the exercise of serious duties we have a mighty 
over-abundance of vigor at our disposal; the child exhausts 
it in play, and the boy in building wonder-castles with the 
hammer and chisel of his fancy, in inventing follies. You 
shake your head, Septah! but I tell you, the audacious 
tricks of the boy are the forerunners of the deeds of the 
man. I shall let one only of the boys suffer for what is 
past, and I should let him even go unpunished if I had 
not other pressing reasons for keeping him away from our 
festival.” 

The haruspex did not contradict his chief; for he knew 
that when Amends eyes flashed so suddenly, and his de- 
meanor, usually so measured, was as restless as at present, 
something serious was brewing. 

The high-priest understood what was passing in SeptalTs 
mind. 

“ You do not understand me now,” said he. “ But this 
evening, at the meeting of the initiated, you shall know 
all. Great events are stirring. The brethren in the tem- 
ple of Amon, on the other shore, have fallen off from 
what must always be the holiest to us white-robed priests, 
and will stand in our way when the time for action 
is arrived. At the feast of the Valley we shall stand 
in competition with the brethren from Thebes. All 
Thebes will be present at the solemn service, and 
it must be proved which knows how to serve the 
Divinity most worthily, they or we. We must avail 
ourselves of all our resources, and Pentaur we cer- 
tainly cannot do without. He must fill the function of 
Cherheb* for to-morrow only; the day after he must be 
brought to judgment. Among the rebellious boys are our 
best singers, and particularly young Anana, who leads the 
voices of the choir-boys; I will examine the silly fellows at 
once. Rameri — Rameses’ son — was among the young mis- 
creants?” 

“He seems to have been the ringleader,” answered 
Septah. 

Ameni looked at the old man with a significant smile, 
and said: 

* Cherheb was the title of the speaker or reciter at a festival. We 
cannot agree with those who confuse this personage with the chief 
of the Kolchytes. 


UARDA . 


241 


“ The royal family are covering themselves with honor! 
His eldest daughter must be kept far from the temple and 
the gathering of the pious, as being unclean and refractory, 
and we shall be obliged to expel his son from our college. 
You look horrified, but 1 say to you that the time for 
action is come. More of this, this evening. Now, one 
question: Has the news of the death of the ram of Amon 
reached you? Yes? Rameses himself presented him to 
the god, and they gave it his name. A bad omen.” 

“ And Apis too is dead!” The haruspex threw up his 
arms in lamentation. 

“His divine spirit has returned to God,” replied Ameni. 
“ Now we have much to do. Before all things we must 
prove ourselves equal to those in Thebes over there, and 
win the people over to our side. The panegyric prepared 
by us for to-morrow must offer some great novelty. The 
Regent Ani grants us a rich contribution, and ” 

“ And,” interrupted Septah, “ our thaumaturgists un- 
derstand things very differently from those of the House of 
Amon, who feast while we practice.” 

Ameni nodded assent', and said with a smile: “Also we 
are more indispensaole than they to the people. They 
show them the path of life, but we smooth the way 
of death. It is easier to find the way without a guide in 
the daylight than in the dark. We are more than a match 
for the priests of Amon.” 

“ So long as you are our leader, certainly,” cried the 
haruspex. 

“ And so long as the temple has no lack of men of your 
temper!” added Ameni, half to Septah, and half to the 
second prophet of the temple, sturdy old Gagabu, who had 
come into the room. 

Both accompanied him into the garden, where the two 
priests were awaiting him with the miraculous heart. 

Ameni greeted the priest from the temple of Amon with 
dignified friendliness, the head kolchytes with distant re- 
serve, listened to their story, looked at the heart which lay 
in the box, with Septah and Gagabu, touched it delicately 
with the tips of his fingers, carefully examining the object, 
which diffused a strong perfume of spices; then he said, 
earnestly: 

“If this, in your opinion, kolchytes, is not a human 


242 


VARDA . 


heart, and if in vours, my brother of the temple of Amon, 
it is a ram’s heart, and if it was found in the body of Rui, 
who is gone to Osiris, we here have a mystery which only 
the gods can solve. Follow me into the great court. Let 
the gong be sounded, Gagabu, four times, for I wish to 
call all the brethren together.” 

The gong rang in loud waves of sound to the furthest 
limits of the group of buildings. The initiated, the 
fathers, the temple servants, and the scholars streamed in, 
and in a few minutes were all collected. Not a man was 
wanting, for at the four strokes of the rarely sounded 
alarm every dweller in the House of Seti was expected to 
appear in the court of the temple. Even the leech Neb- 
secht came; for he feared that the unusual summons an- 
nounced the outbreak of a fire. 

Ameni ordered the assembly to arrange itself in a pro- 
cession, informed his astonished hearers that in the breast 
of the deceased prophet Rui, a ram’s heart, instead of a 
man’s, had been found, and desired them all to follow his 
instructions. Each one, he said, was to fall on his knees 
and pray, while he would carry the heart into the holiest 
of holies, and inquire of the gods what this wonder might 
portend to the faithful. 

Ameni, with the heart in his hand, placed himself at * 
the head of the procession, and disappeared behind the 
veil of the sanctuary; the initiated prayed in the vestibule, 
in frqn^ of it; the priests and scholars in the vast court, 
which was closed on the west by the stately colonnade and 
the main gateway of the temple. 

For fully an hour Ameni remained in the silent holy of 
holies, from which thick clouds of incense rolled out, and 
then he reappeared with a golden vase set with precious 
stones. His tall figure was now resplendent with rich 
ornaments, and a priest, who walked before him, held the 
vessel high above his head. 

Ameni’s eyes seemed spell-bound to the vase, and he fol- 
lowed it, supporting himself by his crozier, with humble 
inflections. 

The initiated bowed their heads till they touched the 
pavement, and the priests and scholars bent their faces 
down to the earth, when they beheld their haughty master 
50 filled with humility and devotion. The worshipers 


VARDA. 


243 


did not raise themselves till Ameni had reached the middle 
of the court and ascended the steps of the altar, on which 
the vase with the heart was now placed, and they listened 
to the slow and solemn accents of the high-priest which 
sounded clearly through the whole court. 

“Fall down again and worship! wonder, pray and 
adore! The noble inspector of sacrifices of the temple of 
Amon has not been deceived in his judgment; a ram’s 
heart was in fact found in the pious breast of Rui. I 
heard distinctly the voice of the Divinity in the sanctuary, 
and strange indeed was the speech that met my ear. 
Wolves tore the sacred ram of Amon in his sanctuary on 
the other bank of the river, but the heart of the divine 
beast found its way into the bosom of the saintly Rui. A 
great miracle has been worked, and the gods, have shown 
a wonderful sign. The spirit of the Highest liked not to 
dwell in the body of this not perfectly holy ram, and seek- 
ing a purer abiding place found it in the breast of our 
Rui; and now in this consecrated vase. In this the heart 
shall be preserved till a new ram offered by a worthy hand 
enters the herd of Amon. This heart shall be preserved 
with the most sacred relics; it has the property of healing 
many diseases, and the significant words seem favorable 
which stood written in the midst of the vapor of incense, 
and which I will repeat to you word for word : ‘ That 
which is high shall rise higher, and that which exalts 
itself, shall soon fall down.’ Rise, pastophori! hasten to 
fetch the holy images, bring them out, place the sacred 
heart at the head of the procession, and let us march round 
the walls of the temple with hymns of praise. Ye temple 
servants, seize your staves, and spread in every part of the 
city the news of the miracle which the Divinity has vouch- 
safed to us.” 

After the procession had marched round the temple and 
dispersed, the priest of Amon took leave of Ameni; he 
bowed deeply and formally before him, and with a cool- 
ness that was almost malicious, said: 

“ We, in the temple of Amon, shall know how to appre- 
ciate what you heard in the holy of holies. The miracle 
has occurred, and the king shall learn how it came to pass, 
and in what words it was announced.” 

“In the words of the Most High,” said the high-priest 


244 


UARDA 


with dignity; he bowed to the other, and turned to a 
group of priests, who were discussing the great event of 
the day. 

Ameni inquired of them as to the preparations for the 
festival of the morrow, and then desired the chief haruspex 
to call the refractory pupils together in the school-court. 
The old man informed him that Pentaur had returned, 
and he followed his superior to the released prisoners, 
who, prepared for the worst, and expecting severe punish- 
ment, nevertheless shook with laughter when Rameri sug- 
gested that, if by chance they were condemned to kneel 
upon peas, they should get them cooked first. 

“ It will be long asparagus — not peas,” said another, 
looking over his shoulder, and pretending to be flogging. 

They all shouted again with laughter, but it was hushed 
as soon as they heard Ameni’s well-known footstep. 

Each feared the worst, and whep the high-priest stood 
before them even Rameri’s mirth was quite quelled, for 
though Ameni looked neither angry nor threatening, his 
appearance commanded respect, and each one recognized 
in him a judge against whose verdict no remonstrance was 
to be thought of. 

To their infinite astonishment Ameni spoke kindly to 
the thoughtless boys, praised the motive of their action — 
their attachment to a highly- endowed teacher — but then 
clearly and deliberately laid before them the folly of the 
means they had employed to attain their end, and at what 
a cost. “ Only think,” he continued, turning to the 
prince, “if your father sent a general, who he thought 
would be better in a different place, from Syria to Kusch, 
and his troops therefore all went over to the enemy! How 
would you like that?” 

So for some minutes he continued to blame and warn 
them, and he ended his speech by promising, in considera- 
tion of the great miracle that gave that day a special 
sanctity, to exercise unwonted clemency. For the sake 
of example, he said, he could not let them pass altogether 
unpunished, and he now asked them which of them had 
been the instigator of the deed; he and he only should 
suffer punishment. 

He had hardly done speaking, when Prince Rameri 
stepped forward, and said modestly: 


UAUDA. 


245 

“ We acknowledge, holy father, that we have played a 
foolish trick; and I lament it doubly because I devised it, 
and made the others follow me. I love Pentaur, and 
next to thee there is no one like him in the sanctuary. ” 

Amends countenance grew dark, and he answered with 
displeasure: 

“ No judgment is allowed to pupils as to their teachers — 
nor to you. If you were not the son of the king, who 
rules Egypt as Ra, I would punish your temerity with 
stripes. My hands are tied with regard to you, and yet 
they must be everywhere and always at work if the hun- 
dreds committed to my care are to be kept from harm!” 

“ Nay, punish me!” cried Rameri. “ If I commit a folly 
I am ready to bear the consequences?” 

Ameni looked pleased at the vehement boy, and would 
willingly have shaken him by the hand and stroked his 
curly head, but the penance he proposed for Rameri was 
to serve a great end, and Ameni would not allow any over- 
flow of emotion to hinder him in the execution of a well 
considered design. So he answered the prince with grave 
determination: 

“ I must and will punish you — and I do so by requesting 
you to leave the House of Seti this very day.” 

The prince turned pale. But Ameni went on more 
kindly: 

“I do not expel you with ignominy from among us — 
I only bid you a friendly farewell. In a few weeks you 
would in any case have left the college, and by the king’s 
command have transferred your blooming life, health and 
strength to the exercising ground of the chariot-brigade. 
No punishment for you but this lies in my power. Now 
give me your hand; you will make a fine man, and perhaps 
a great warrior.” 

The prince stood in astonishment before Ameni, and 
did not take his offered hand. Then the priest went up 
to him, and said: 

“ You said you were ready to take the consequences of 
your folly, and a prince’s word must be kept. Before sun- 
set we will conduct you to the gate of the temple.” 

Ameni turned his back on the boys, and left the 
school-court. 

Rameri looked after him. Utter whiteness had over- 


246 


UARDA. 


spread his blooming face, and the blood had left even his 
lips. None of his companions approached him, for each 
felt that what was passing in his soul at this moment 
would brook no careless intrusion. No one spoke a word; 
they all looked at him. 

He soon observed this, and tried to collect himself, and 
then he said in a low tone while he held out his hands to 
Anana and another friend: 

“Am I then so bad that I must be driven out from 
among you all like this — that such a blow must be inflicted 
on my father?” 

“You refused Ameni your hand!” answered Anana. 
“ Go to him, offer him your hand, beg him to be less 
severe, and perhaps he will let you remain.” 

Rameri answered only “No.” But that “ No ” was so 
decided that all who knew him understood that it was 
final. 

Before the sun set he had left the school. Ameni gave 
him his blessing; he told him that if he himself ever had 
to command he would understand his severity, and allowed 
the other scholars to accompany him as far as the Nile. 
Pentaur parted from him tenderly at the gate. 

When Rameri was alone in the cabin of his gilt bark 
with his tutor, he felt his eyes swimming in tears. 

“Your highness is surely not weeping?” asked the 
official. 

“Why?” asked the prince, sharply. 

“I thought I saw tears on your highness* cheeks.” 

“ Tears of joy that I am out of the trap,*’ cried Rameri; 
he sprang on shore, and in a few minutes he was with his 
sister in the palace. 


CHAPTER XXIY. 

This eventful day had brought much that was unex- 
pected to our friends in Thebes, as well as to those who lived 
in the Necropolis. 

The Lady Katuti had risen early after a sleepless night. 
Nefert had come in late, had excused her delay by shortly 
explaining to her mother that she had been detained by 


UARDA. 


247 


Bent-Anat, and had then affectionately offered her brow 
for a kiss of “ good-night.” 

When the widow was about to withdraw to her sleeping- 
room, and Nemu had lighted her lamp, she remembered 
the secret which Paaker was to deliver into the keeping of 
Ani. She ordered the dwarf to impart to her what he 
knew, and the little man told her at last, after sincere 
efforts at resistance — for he feared for his mother’s safety 
— that Paaker had administered half of a love-philter to 
Nefert, and that the remainder was -still in his hands. 

A few hours since this information would have filled 
Katuti with indignation and disgust; now, though she 
blamed the Mohar, she asked eagerly whether such a drink 
could be proved to have any actual effect. 

“Not a doubt of it,” said the dwarf, “ if the whole were 
taken, but Nefert only had half of it.” 

At a late hour Katuti was still pacing her bedroom, 
thinking of Paaker’s insane devotion, of Mena’s faithless- 
ness, and of Nefert’s altered demeanor; and when she went 
to bed, a thousand conjectures, fears and anxieties tor- 
mented her, while she was distressed at the change which 
had come over Nefert’s love to her mother, a sentiment 
which of all others should be the most sacred, and the 
most secure against all shock. 

Soon after sunrise she went into the little temple at- 
tached to the house, and made an offering to the statue, 
which, under the form of Osiris, represented her lost hus- 
band; then she went to th extern pie of Amon, where she 
also prayed a while, and nevertheless, on her return home, 
found that her daughter had not yet made her appearance 
in the hall where they usually breakfasted together. 

Katuti preferred to be undisturbed during the early 
morning hours, and therefore did not interfere with her 
daughter’s disposition to sleep far into the day in her care- 
fully darkened room. 

When the widow went to the temple Nefert was accus- 
tomed to take a cup of milk in bed, then she would let 
herself be’ dressed, and when her mother returned, she 
would find her in the veranda or hall, which is so well 
known to the reader. 

To-day, however, Katuti had to breakfast alone; but 
when she had eaten a few mouthfuls she prepared Nefert’s 


248 


UARDA. 


breakfast — a white cake and a little wine in a small silver 
beaker, carefully guarded from dust and insects by a nap- 
kin thrown over it — and went into her daughter’s room. 

She was startled at finding it empty, but she was in- 
formed that Nefert had gone earlier than was her wont to 
the temple, in her litter. 

With a heavy sigh she returned to the veranda, and 
there received her nephew Paaker, who had come to in- 
quire after the health of his relatives, followed by a slave, 
who carried two magnificent bunches of flowers, and by the 
great dog which had formerly belonged to his father. One 
bouquet he said had been cut for Nefert, and the other for 
her mother. 

Katuti had taken quite a new interest in Paaker since 
she had heard of his procuring the philter. 

No other young man of the rank to which they belonged 
would have allowed himself to be so mastered by his passion 
for a woman as this Paaker was, who went straight to his 
aim with stubborn determination, and shunned no means 
that might lead to it. The pioneer, who had grown up 
under her eyes, whose weaknesses she knew, and whom she 
was accustomed to look down upon, suddenly appeared to 
her as a different man — almost a stranger — as the deliverer 
of his friends, and the merciless antagonist of his 
enemies. 

These reflections had passed rapidly through her mind. 
Now her eyes rested on the sturdy, strongly knit figure of 
her nephew, and it struck her that he bore no resemblance 
.to his tall, handsome father. Often had she admired her 
brother-in-law’s slender hand, that nevertheless could so 
effectually wield a sword, but that of his son was broad and 
ignoble in form. 

While Paaker was telling her that he must shortly leave 
for Syria, she involuntarily observed the action of this 
hand, which often went cautiously to his girdle as if he had 
something concealed there; this was the oval phial with 
the rest of the philter. Katuti observed it, and her cheeks 
flushed when it occurred to her to guess what he had 
there. 

The pioneer could not but observe Katuti’s agitation, 
and he said in a tone of sympathy: 

“ I perceive that you are in pain, or in trouble. The 


TJARDA. 


249 

master of Mena's stud at Hermonthis has no doubt been 
with you — No? He came to me yesterday, and asked me 
to allow him to join my troops. He is very angry with 
you, because he has been obliged to sell some of Mena's 
gold-bays. 1 have bought the finest of them. They are 
splendid creatures! How he wants to go to his master ‘to 
open his eyes/ as he says. Lie down a little while, aunt, 
yon are very pale.” 

Katuti did not follow this prescription; on the contrary 
she smiled, and said in a voice half of anger and half of 
pity: 

“ The old fool firmly believes that the weal or woe of the 
family depends on the gold-bays. He would like to go 
with you? To open Mena's eyes? Ho one has yet tried to 
bind them!” 

Katuti spoke the last words in a low tone, and her glance 
fell. Paaker also looked down, and was silent; but he soon 
recovered his presence of mind, and said: 

“ If Hefert is to be long absent, I will go.” 

“ Ho — no, stay,” cried the widow. *' f She wished to see 
you, and must soon come in. There are her cake and 
her wine waiting for her.” 

With these words she took the napkin off the breakfast- 
table, held up the beaker in her hand, and then said, with 
the cloth still in her hand: 

“ I will leave you a moment, and see if Hefert is not yet 
come home.” 

Hardly had she left the veranda when Paaker, having 
convinced himself that no one could see him, snatched 
the flask from his girdle, and, with a short, invocation to 
his father in Osiris, poured its whole contents into the 
beaker, which thus was filled to the very brim. A few 
minutes later Hefert and her mother entered the hall. 

Paaker took up the nosegay, which his slave had laid 
down on a seat, and timidly approached the young woman, 
who walked in with such an aspect of decision and self- 
confidence that her mother looked at her in astonish- 
ment, while Paaker felt as if she had never before appeared 
so beautiful and brilliant. Was it possible that she should 
love her husband, when he had so little respect for his 
plighted troth? Did her heart still belong to another? 
Or had the love-philter set him in the place of Mena? Yes! 


250 


VARDA. 


yes! for how warmly she greeted him. She put out her 
hand to him while he was still quite far off, let it rest in 
his, thanked him with feeling, and praised his fidelity and 
generosity. 

Then she went up to the table, begged Paaker to sit down 
with her, broke her cake, and inquired for her aunt 
Setchem, PaakePs mother. 

Katuti and Paaker watched all her movements with 
beating hearts. 

Now she took up the beaker, and lifted it to her lips, but 
set it down again to answer PaakePs remark that she was 
breakfasting late. 

“ I have hitherto been a real lazy-bones,” she said, with a 
blush. “But this morning I got up early, to go and pray 
in the temple in the fresh dawn. You know what has 
happened to the second rami of Amon. It is a frightful 
occurrence. The priests were all in the greatest agitation, 
but the venerable Bek el Chunsu received me himself, and 
interpreted my dream, and now my spirit is light and 
contented.” 

“ And you did all this without me?” said Katuti, in gentle 
reproof. 

“ I would not disturb you,” replied Nefert. 

“Besides,” she added, coloring, “you never take me to 
the city and the temple in the morning.” 

Again she took up the wine-cup and looked into it, but 
without drinking any, went on: 

“Would you like to hear what I dreamed, Paaker? It 
was a strange vision.” 

The pioneer could hardly breathe for expectation, still 
he begged her to tell her dream. 

“ Only think,” said Nefert,* pushing the beaker on the 
smooth table, which was wet with a few drops which she 
had spilt, “I dreamed of the Neha-tree,* down there in 
the great tub, which your father brought me from Punt, 
when I was a little child, and which since then has grown 
quite a tall tree. There is no tree in the garden I love so 
much, for it always reminds me of your father, who was so 
kind to me, and whom I can never forget!” 

*The Nelia-tree yielded the resinous berries called Anta, which 
were highly valued for incense. It is probably Balsamodendron 
Myrrhcea, and allied to the tree which produces the balm of Gilead. 


UARDA. 


251 


Paaker bowed assent. 

Nefert looked at him, and interrupted her story when she 
observed his crimson cheeks. 

“ It is very hot! Would you like some wine to drink — 
or some water?” 

With these words she raised the wine-cup, and drank 
about half of the contents; then she shuddered, and while 
her pretty face took a comical expression, she turned to her 
mother, who was seated behind her, and held the beaker 
toward her. 

“ The wine is quite sour to-day!” she said. “ Taste it, 
mother.” 

Katuti took the little silver cup in her hand, and 
gravely put it to her lips, but without wetting them. A 
smile passed over her face, and her eyes met those of the 
pioneer, who stared at her in horror. The picture flashed 
before her mind of herself languishing for the pioneer, and 
of his terror at her affection for him! Her selfish and 
intriguing spirit was free from coarseness, and yet she 
could have laughed with all her heart even while engaged 
in the most shameful deed of her whole life. She gave the 
wine back to her daughter, saying good-liumoredly: 

“1 have tasted sweeter, but acid is refreshing in this 
heat.” 

“ That is true,” said the wife of Mena; she emptied the 
cup to the bottom, and then went on, as if refreshed: 

“ But I will tell you the rest of my dream. I saw the 
Neha-tree, which your father gave me, quite plainly; nay 
I could have declared that I smelt its perfume, but the 
interpreter assured me that we never smell in our dreams. 
I went up to the beautiful tree in admiration. Then sud- 
denly a hundred axes appeared in the air, wielded by unseen 
hands, and struck the poor tree with such violence that 
the branches one by one fell to the ground, and at last 
the trunk itself was felled. If you think it grieved me 
you are mistaken. On the contrary, I was delighted with 
the flashing hatchets and the flying splinters. When at 
last nothing was left but the roots in the tub of earth, I 
perceived that the tree was rising to new life. Suddenly 
my arms became strong, my feet active, and I fetched 
quantities of water from the tank, poured it over the roots, 
and when, at last, I could exert myself no longer, a tender 


252 


UARDA . 


green shoot showed itself on the wounded root, a bud ap- 
peared, a green leaf unfolded itself, a juicy stem sprouted 
quickly, it became a firm trunk, sent out branches and twigs, 
and these became covered with leaves and flowers, white, red 
and blue; then various birds came and\ settled on the top of 
the tree, and sang. Ah! my heart sang louder than the 
birds at that moment, and I said to myself that without 
me the tree would have been dead, and that it owed its life 
to me.” 

“A beautiful dream,” said Katuti; “ that reminds me 
of your girlhood, when you would lie awake half the night 
inventing all sorts of tales. What interpretation did the 
priest give you?” 

“ He promised me many things,” said Nefert, “ and he 
gave me the assurance that the happiness to which I am 
predestined shall revive in fresh beauty after many inter- 
ruptions.” 

“And Paaker’s father gave you the Neha-tree?” asked 
Katuti, leaving the veranda as she spoke and walking out 
into the garden. 

“My father brought it to Thebes from the far east,” 
said Paaker, in confirmation of the widow's parting 
words. 

“And that is exactly what makes me so happy,” said 
Nefert. “ For your father was as kind, and as dear to me 
as if he had been my own. Do you remember when we 
were sailing round the pond, and the boat upset, and you 
pulled me senseless out of the water? Never shall I forget 
the expression with which the great man looked at me 
when I woke up in his arms; such wise true eyes no one 
over had but lie.” 

“He was good, and he loved you very much,” said 
Paaker, recalling, for his part, the moment when he had 
dared to press a kiss on the lips of the sweet unconscious 
child. 

“And I am so glad,” Nefert went on, “that the day 
has come at last when we can talk of him together again, 
and when the old grudge that lay so heavy on my heart is 
all forgotten. How good you are to us, I have already 
learned; my heart overflows with gratitude to you, when 
I remember my childhood, and I can never forget that I 
was indebted to you for all that was bright and happy in 


UARDA. 


253 


it. Only look at the big dog — poor Descher! — how he 
rubs against me, and shows that he has not forgotten me! 
Whatever comes from your house fills my mind with pleas- 
ant memories.” 

“We all love you dearly,” said Paaker, looking at her 
tenderly. 

“And how sweet it was in your garden!” cried Nefert. 
“The nosegay here that you have brought me shall be 
placed in water, and preserved a long time, as a greeting 
from the place in which once I could play so carelessly, and 
dream so happily.” 

With these words she pressed the flowers to her lips; 
Paaker sprang forward, seized her hand, and covered it 
with burning kisses. 

Nefert started and drew away her hand, but he put out 
his arm to clasp her to him. He had touched her with 
his trembling hand, when loud voices were heard in the 
garden, and Nemu hurried in to announce the arrival of 
the Princess Bent-Ant. 

At the same moment Katuti appeared, and in a few 
minutes the princess herself. 

Paaker retreated, and quitted the room before Kefert 
had time to express her indignation. He staggered to his 
chariot like a drunken man. He supposed himself beloved 
by Mena’s wife, his heart was full of triumph, he purposed 
rewarding Hekt with gold, and went to the palace without 
delay to crave of Ani a mission to Syria. There it should 
be brought to the test — he or Mena. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

While Nefert, frozen with horror, oould not find a word 
of greeting for her royal friend, Beut-Anat with native 
dignity laid before the widow her choice of Nefert to fill 
the place of her lost companion, and desired that Mena’s 
wife should go to the palace that very day. 

She had never before spoken thus to Katuti, and Katuti 
could not overlook the fact that Bent-Anat had intention- 
ally given up her old confidential tone. 

“ Hefert has complained of me to her,” thought she to 


254 


UARDA. 


herself, “and she considers me no longer worthy of her 
former friendly kindness.” 

She was vexed and hurt, and though she understood the 
danger which threatened her, now her daughter’s eyes were 
opened, still the thought of losing her child inflicted a 
painful wound. It was this which filled her eyes with 
tears, and sincere sorrow trembled in her voice as she 
replied : 

“ Thou hast required the better half of my life at my 
hand; but thou hast but to command, and I to obey.” 

Bent-Anat waved her hand proudly, as if to confirm 
the widow’s statement ; but Nefert went up to her 
mother, threw her arms round her neck, and wept upon 
her shoulder. 

Tears glistened even in the princess’ eyes when Katuti 
at last led her daughter toward her, and pressed yet one 
more kiss on her forehead. 

Bent-Anat took Nefert’s hand, and did not release it, 
while she requested the widow to give her daughter’s 
dresses and ornaments into the charge of the slaves and 
waiting-women whom she would send for them. 

“ And do not forget the case with the dried flowers, and 
my amulets, and the images of the gods,” said Nefert. 
“And I should like to have the Neha-tree which my uncle 
gave me.” 

Her white cat was playing at her feet with Paaker’s 
flowers, which she had dropped on the floor, and when she 
saw her she took her up and kissed her. 

“ Bring the little creature with you,” said Bent-Anat. 
“ It was your favorite plaything.” 

“No,” replied Nefert, coloring. 

The princess understood her, pressed her hand, and 
said, while she pointed to Nemu: 

“The dwarf is your own too; shall he come with you?” 

“I will give him to my mother,” said Nefert. She let 
the little man kiss her robe and her feet, once more 
embraced Katuti, and quitted the garden with her royal 
friend. 

As soon as Katuti was alone, she hastened into the little 
chapel in which the figures of her ancestors stood, apart 
from those of Mena. She threw herself down before the 
statue of her husband, half weeping, half thankful. 


UARDA. 


255 


This parting had indeed fallen heavily on her soul, but 
at the same time it released her from a mountain of 
anxiety that had oppressed her breast. Since yesterday 
she had felt like one who walks along the edge of a preci- 
pice, and whose enemy is close at his heels; and the sense 
of freedom from the ever threatening danger, soon got the 
upper hand of her maternal grief. The abyss in front of 
her had suddenly closed; the road to the goal of her efforts 
lay before her smooth and firm beneath her feet. 

The widow, usually so dignified, hastily and eagerly 
walked down the garden path, and for the first time since 
that luckless letter from the camp had reached her, she 
could look calmly and clearly at the position of affairs, 
and reflect on the measures which Ani must take in the 
immediate future. She told herself that all was well, and 
that the time for prompt and rapid action was now come. 

When the messengers came from the princess she super- 
intended the packing of the various objects which Nefert 
wished to have, with calm deliberation, and then sent her 
dwarf to Ani, to beg that he would visit her. But before 
Nemu had left Mena's grounds he saw the outrunners of 
the regent, his chariot, and the troop of guards following 
him. 

Very soon Katuti and her noble friend were walking up 
and down in the garden, while she related to him how 
Bent-Anat had taken Nefert from her, and repeated to 
him all that she had planned and considered during the 
last hour. 

“ You have the genius of a man," said Ani; “ and this 
time you do not urge me in vain. Ameni is ready to act, 
Paaker is to-day collecting his troops, to-morrow he will 
assist at the feast of the Valley, and the next day he goes 
to Syria." 

“He has been with you?" Katuti asked. 

“He came to the palace on leaving your house," replied 
Ani, “ with glowing cheeks, and resolved to the utmost; 
though he does not dream that I hold him in my hand." 

Thus speaking they entered the veranda, in which Nemu 
had remained, and he now hid himself as usual behind the 
ornamental shrubs to overhear them. They sat down near 
each other, by Nefert's breakfast table, and. Ani asked 
Katuti whether the dwarf had told her his mother's secret. 


25G 


UARDA. 


Katuti feigned ignorance, listened to the story of the love- 
philter, and played the part of the alarmed mother very 
cleverly. The regent was of opinion, while he tried to 
soothe her, that there was no real love-potion in the case; 
but the widow exclaimed: 

“ Now I understand, now for the first time I comprehend 
my daughter. Paaker must have poured the drink into 
her wine, for she had no sooner drank it this morning than 
she was quite altered — her words to Paaker had quite a 
tender ring in them; and if he placed himself so cheerfully 
at your disposal it is because he believes himself certainly 
to be beloved by my daughter. The old witch's potion was 
effectual." 

“ There certainly are such drinks," said Ani, thought- 
fully. “ But will they only win hearts to young men! If 
that is the case, the old woman's trade is a bad one, for 
youth is in itself a charm to attract love. If I were only as 
young as Paaker! You laugh at the sighs of a man — say at 
once of an old man! Well, yes, I am old, for the prime of 
life lies behind me. And yet, Katuti, my friend, wisest of 
women — explain to me one thing. When I was young I 
was loved by many and admired many women, but not one 
of them — not even my wife, who died young, was more to 
me than a toy, a plaything; and now when I stretch out 
my hand for a girl, whose father I might very well be — 
not for her own sake, but simply to serve my purpose — and 
she refuses me, I feel as much disturbed, as much a fool 
as — as that dealer in love-philters, Paaker." 

“ Have you spoke to Bent Anat?" asked Katuti. 

“ And heard again from her own lips the refusal she had 
sent me through you. You see my spirit has suffered!" 

P And on what pretext did she reject your suit?" asked 
the widow. 

“ Pretext!" cried Ani. “Bent-Anat and pretext! It 
must be owned that she has kingly pride, and not Ma * 
herself is more truthful than she. " That I should have to 
confess it! When I think of her, our plot seems to me un- 
utterably pitiful. My veins contain, indeed, many drops 
of the blood of Thotmes, and though the experience of life 
has taught me to stoop low, still the stooping hurts me. 


* The Goddess of Truth. 


UARDA. 


257 


I have never known the happy feeling of satisfaction with 
iny lot and my work; for I have always had a greater posi- 
tion than I could fill, and constantly done less than I ought 
to have done. In order not to look always resentful, 
I always wear a smile. I have nothing left of the face I 
was bom with but the mere skin, and always wear a mask. 
I serve him whose master I believe I ought to be by birth; 
I hate Raineses, who, sincerely or no, calls me his brother; 
and while I stand as if I were the bulwark of his authority 
I am diligently undermining it. My whole existence is a 
lie.” 

“But it will be truth,” cried Katuti, “as soon as the 
gods allow you to be — as you are — the real king of this 
country.” 

“ Strange!^ said Ani, smiling, “Ameni, this very day, 
used almost exactly the same words. The wisdom of 
priests, and that of women, have much in common, and 
they fight with the same weapons. You use words instead 
of swords, traps instead of lances, and you cast not our 
bodies, but our souls, into irons.” 

“Do yon blame or praise us for it?” said the widow. 
“ We are in my case not impotent allies, and therefore, it 
seems to me, desirable ones.” 

“Indeed ytp are,” said Ani, smiling. “Not a tear is 
shed in the lank whether it is shed for joy or for sorrow, 
for which in thkfirst instance a priest or a woman in not 
responsible. Sexpusly, Katuti — in nine great events out 
of ten you wome\have a hand in the game. You gave 
the first impulse to^dl that is plotting here, and I will con- 
fess to you that, regardless of all consequences, I should 
in a few hours have ^venup my pretensions to the throne, 
if that woman Bent-Anat had said ‘yes* instead of ‘no.’” 

“You make mebelW e ,” sa id Katuti, “ that the weaker 
sex are gifted with sc^nger wills than the nobler. In 
marrying us you style it < the mistress of the house/ and 
if the elders "of the ciVzens grow infirm in this country 
it is not the sons but tl\ daughters that must be their 
mainstay. But we womenW e 0 ur weaknesses, and chief 
of these is curiosity. Mayr a sk on what ground Bent- 
Anat dismissed you?” \ 

“ You know so much thatVou may know all,” replied 
Ani. “ She admitted me to Wak to her alone. It was 


258 


UARDA. 


yet early, and she had come from the temple, where the 
weak old prophet had absolved her from uncleanuess; she 
met me, bright, beautiful and proud, strong and radiant 
as a goddess, and a princess. My heart throbbed as if I 
were a boy, and while she was showing me her flowers 1 
said to myself: ‘ You are come to obtain through her 
another claim to the throne/ And yet I felt that, if she 
consented to be mine, I would remain the true brother, 
the faithful regent of Baineses, and enjoy happiness and 
peace by her side before it was too late. If she refused 
me then I resolved that fate must take its way, and, instead 
of peace and love, it must be war for the crown snatched 
from my fathers. I tried to woo her, but she cut my 
words short, said I was a noble man, and a worthy suitor 
but ” 

“There came the but.” 

“Yes — in the form of a very frank ‘ no/ I asked her 
reasons; she begged me to be content with the no;’ then 
I pressed her harder, till she interrupted me. and owned 
with proud decision that she preferred some one else. I 
wished to learn the name of the happy nan — that she 
refused. Then my blood began to boil, ant my desire to 
win her increased; but I had to leave he, rejected, and 
with a fresh, burning, poisoned wound in ny heart.” 

“You are jealous!” said Katuti, “anddo you know of 
whom ?” 

“No,” replied Ani. “ But I hope tofind out through 
you. What I feel it is impossible for rie to express. But 
one tiling I know, and that is this that I entered the 
palace a vacillating man — that I let it firmly resolved. 

I now rush straight onward, never again to turn back. 
From this time forward you will r> longer have to drive 
me onward, but rather to hold *© back; and as if the 
gods had meant to show that tluf would stand by me, I 
found the high-priest Ameni, an the. chief pioneer Paaker 
waiting for me in my house, ^meni will act for me in 
Egypt, Paaker in Syria. M victorious troops from 
Ethiopia will enter Thebes o-morrow morning, on their 
return home in triumph, as ; the king were at their head, 
and will then take part in vie feast of the Valley. Later 
we will send them into t^ north, and post them in the 


UARDA. 


259 

fortresses which protect Egypt * against enemies coming 
from the east — Tanis, Daphne, Pelusium, Migdol. 
Raineses, as you know, requires that we should drill the 
serfs of the temples, and send them to him as auxiliaries. 
I will send him half of the body-guard, the other half 
shall serve my own purposes. The garrison of Memphis, 
which is devoted to Rameses, shall be sent to Nubia, and 
shall be relieved by troops that are faithful to me. The 
people of Thebes are led by the priests, and to-morrow 
Ameni will point out to them who is their legitimate king, 
who will put an end to the war and release them from 
taxes. The children of Rameses will be excluded from the 
solemnities, for Ameni, in spite of the chief priest of 
Amon, still pronounces Bent-Anat unclean. Young 
Rameri has been doing wrong and Ameni, who has some 
other great scheme in his mind, has forbidden him the 
temple of Seti; that will work on the crowd! You know 
how things are going on in Syria: Rameses has suffered 
much at the hands of the Cheta and their allies; whole 
legions are weary of eternally lying in the field, and if 
things came to extremities would join us; but, perhaps, 
especially if Paaker acquits himself well, we may be vic- 
torious without fighting. Above all things now we must 
act rapidly." 

t( I no longer recognize the timid, cautious lover of 
delay!" exclaimed Katuti. 

“ Because now prudent hesitation would be want of pru- 
dence," said Ani. 

“And if the king should get timely information as to 
what is happening here?" said Katuti. 

“I said so!" exclaimed Ani; “we are exchanging 
parts." 

“You are mistaken," said Katuti. “I also am for 
pressing forward; but I would remind you of a necessary 
precaution. No letters but yours must reach the camp 
for the next few weeks." 

“ Once more you and the priests are of one mind," said 
Ani, laughing; “ for Ameni gave me the same counsel. 


* I have treated the line of fortresses which protected Egypt from 
the incursions of the Asiatic tribes on the east in “ Egypten und die 
Biicher Mose.” Vol. ii, p. 78. 


260 


UARDA. 


Whatever letters are sent across the frontier between 
Pel u siu m and the Red Sea will be detained. Only my let- 
ters — in which I complain of the piratical sons of the 
desert who fall upon the messengers — will reach the king.” 

“That is wise,” said the widow; “let the seaports of 
the Red Sea be watched too, and the public writers. 
When you are king, you can distinguish those who are af- 
fected "for or against you.” 

Ani shook his head and replied: 

“That would put me in a difficult position; for if I 
were to punish those who are now faithful to their king, 
and exalt the others, I should have to govern with un- 
faithful servants, and turn away the faithful ones. You 
need not color, my kind friend, for we are kin, and my 
concerns are yours.” 

Katuti took the hand he offered her and said: 

“ It is so. And I ask no further reward than to see my 
father’s house once more in the enjoyment of its rights.” 

“Perhaps we shall achieve it,” said Ani; “but in a 
short time if — if — Reflect, Katuti; try to find out, ask 
your daughter to help you to the utmost. Who is it that 
she — you know whom I mean — Who is it that Bent-Anat 
loves?” 

The widow started, for Ani had spoken the last words 
with a vehemence very foreign to his usual courtliness, but 
soon she smiled and repeated to the regent the names of the 
few young nobles who had not followed the king, and re- 
mained in Thebes. “ Can it be Chamus?” at last she said, 
“he is at the camp, it is true, but nevertheless ” 

At this instant Nemu, who had not lost a word of the 
conversation, came in as if straight from the garden and 
said : 

“ Pardon me, my lady; but I have heard a strange 
thing.” 

“Speak,” said Katuti. 

“ The high and mighty Princess Bent-Anat, the daugh- 
ter of Rameses, is said to have an open love affair with a 
young priest of the House of Seti.” 

“You bare-faced scoundrel!” exclaimed Ani, and his 
eyes sparkled with rage. “Prove what you say, or you 
lose your tongue.” 

“ I am willing to lose it as a slanderer and traitor ac- 


VARDA. 


2G1 


cording to the law,” said the little man abjectly, and yet 
with a malicious laugh; “ but this time I shall keep it, for 
lean vouch for what I say. You both know that Bent- Anat 
was pronounced unclean because she stayed for an hour 
and more in the house of a paraschites. She had an as- 
signation there with the priest. At a second, in the temple 
of Hatasu, they were surprised by Septah, the chief of the 
haruspices of the House of Seti.” 

“ Who is the priest?” asked Ani, with apparent calm- 
ness. 

“A low-born man,” replied Nemu, “ to whom a free 
education was given at the House of Seti, and who is well 
known as a verse- maker and interpreter of dreams. His 
name is Pentaur, and it certainly must be admitted that 
he is handsome and dignified. He is line for line the 
image of the pioneer PaakePs late father — Didst thou ever 
see him my lord?” 

The regent looked gloomily at the floor and nodded that 
he had. But Katuti cried out: “Fool that I am! the 
dwarf is right! I saw how she blushed when her brother 
told her how the boys had rebelled on his account against 
Ameni. It is Pentaur and none other!” 

“ Good!” said Ani, “ we will see.” 

With these words he took leave of Katuti, who, as he 
disappeared in the garden, muttered to himself: 

“ He was wonderfully clear and decided to-day; but 
jealousy is already blinding him and will soon make him 
feel that he cannot get on without my sharp eyes.” 

Nemu had slipped out after the regent. 

He called to him from behind a fig-tree, and hastily 
whispered, while he bowed with deep respect: 

“ My mother knows a great deal, most noble highness! 
The sacred Ibis* -wades through the fen when it goes in 
search of prey, and why shouldst thou not stoop to pick 


*Ibis religiosa. It lias disappeared from Egypt. There were two 
varieties of this bird, which was sacred to Toth, and mummies of 
both have been found in various places. Elian states that an immor- 
tal Ibis was shown at Hermopolis. Plutarch says, the Ibis destroys 
poisonous reptiles, and that priests draw the water for their purifica- 
tions where the Ibis has drunk, as it will never touch unwholesome 
water. 


tJAUDA. 


%62 

up gold out of the dust? I know how thou couldst speak 
with the old woman without being seen.” 

“ Speak,” said Ani. 

“ Throw her into prison for a day, hear what she has to 
say, and then release her — with gifts if she is of service to 
you — if not, with blows. But thou wilt learn something 
important from her that she obstinately refused to tell me 
even.” 

“ We will see!” replied the regent. He threw a ring of 
gold to the dwarf and got into his chariot. 

So large a crowd had collected in the vicinity of the 
palace that Ani apprehended mischief, and ordered his 
charioteer to check the pace of the horses, and sent a few 
police-soldiers to the support of the outrunners; but good 
news seemed to await him, for at the gate of the castle he 
heard the unmistakable acclamations of the crowd, and 
in the palace court he found a messenger from the temple of 
Seti, commissioned by Ameni to communicate to him and 
to the people, the occurrence of a great miracle, in that 
the heart of the ram of Ainon, that had been torn by 
wolves, had been found again within the breast of the 
dead prophet Rui. 

Ani at once descended from his chariot, knelt down 
before all the people, who followed his example, lifted 
his arms to Heaven, and praised the gods in a loud voice. 
When, after some minutes, he rose and entered the palace, 
slaves came out and distributed bread to the crowd in 
Ameni’s name. 

“ The regent has an open hand,” said a joiner to his 
neighbor; “only look how white the bread is. I will put 
it in my pocket and take it to the children.” 

“ Give me a bit!” cried a naked little scamp, snatching 
the cake of bread from the joiner’s hand and running 
away, slipping between the legs of the people as lithe as a 
snake. 

“You crocodile’s brat!” cried his victim. “The inso- 
lence of boys gets worse and worse every day.” 

“They are hungry,” said a woman, * apologetically. 
“Their fathers are gone to the war, and the mothers 
have nothing for their children but papyrus-pith and 
lotus-seeds.” 

“ I hope they enjoy it,” laughed the joiner. “ Let ua 
push to the left; there is a man with some more bread.” 


TTARD'A. 


263 

u The regent must rejoice greatly over the miracle,” 
said a shoemaker. “ It is costing him something.” 

“ Nothing like it has happened for a long time,” said a 
basket-maker. “ And he is particularly glad it should be 
precisely Rui's body, which the sacred heart should have 
blessed. You ask why ? Hatasu is Ani's ancestress, 
blockhead !” 

“ And Rui was prophet of the temple of Hatasu,” added 
the joiner. 

“ The priests over there are all hangers-on of the old 
royal house, that I know,” asserted a baker. 

“ That's no secret!” cried the cobbler. “ The old times 
were better than these too. The war upsets everything, 
and quite respectable people go barefoot because they 
cannot pay for shoe-leather. Ramesis is a great warrior, 
and the son of Ra, but what can he do without the gods; 
and they don't seem to like to stay in Thebes any longer; 
else why should the heart of the sacred ram seek a 
new dwelling in the Necropolis, and in the breast of an ad- 
herent of the old ” 

“ Hold your tongue,” warned the basket-maker. “ Here 
comes one of the watch.” 

“I must go back to work,” said the baker. “I have 
my hands quite full for the feast to-morrow.” 

“ And I too,” said the shoemaker with a sigh, “for who 
would follow the king of the gods through the Necropolis 
barefoot.” 

“ You must earn a good deal,” cried the basket-maker. 

“ We should do better if we had better workmen,” re- 
plied the shoemaker, “ but all the good hands are gone to 
the war. One has to put up with stupid youngsters. And 
as for the women! My wife must needs have a new gown 
for the procession, and bought necklets for the children. 
Of course we must honor the dead, and they repay it often 
by standing by us when we want it — but what I pay for 
sacrifices no one can tell. More than half of what I earn 
goes in them ” 

“ In the first grief of losing my poor wife,” said the 
baker, “ I promised a small offering every new moon, and 
a greater one every year. The priests will not release us 
from our vows, and times get harder and harder. And my 
dead wife owes me a grudge, and is as thankless as she was 


264 


UARDA. 


in her lifetime; for when she appears to me in a dream she 
does not give me a good word, and often torments me.” 

“She is now* a glorified all-seeing spirit,” said the 
basket-maker’s wife, “ and no doubt you were faithless to 
her. The glorified souls know all that happens, and that 
has happened on earth.” 

The baker cleared his throat, having no answer ready; 
but the shoemaker exclaimed: 

“ By Anubis, the lord of the under-world, I hope I may 
die before my old woman! for if she tells them down there 
all I have done in this world, and if she maybe changed 
into any shape she pleases, she will come to me every night, 
and nip me like a crab, and sit on me like a mountain.” 

“And if you die first,” said the woman, “she will follow 
'you afterward to the under- world, and see through you 
there.” 

“ That will be less dangerous,” said the shoemaker, 
laughing, “for then I shall be glorified too, and shall 
know all about her past life. That will not all be white 
paper either, and if she throws a shoe at me I will fling the 
last at her.” 

“ Come home,” said the basket-maker’s wife, pulling 
her husband away. “ You are getting no good by hearing 
this talk.” 

The by-standers laughed, and the baker exclaimed: 

“ It is high time I should be in the Necropolis before it 
gets dark, and see to the tables being laid for to-morrow’s 
festival. My trucks are close to the narrow entrance to 
the valley. Send your little ones to me, and I will give 
them something nice. Are you coming over with me?” 

“ My younger brother is gone over with the goods,” 
replied the shoemaker. “ We have plenty to do still for 
the customers in Thebes, and here am I standing gossip- 
ing. Will the wonderful heart of the sacred ram be 
exhibited to-morrow, do you know?” 

“ Of course — no doubt,” said the baker; “good-by, there 
go my cases!” 


UARDA. 


265 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

Notwithstanding the advanced hour hundreds of 
people were crossing over to the Necropolis at the same 
time as the baker. They were permitted to linger late 
on into the evening, under the inspection of the watch, 
because it was' the eve of the great feast, and they had 
to set out their counters and awnings, to pitch their tents, 
and to spread out their wares; for as soon as the sun rose 
next day all business traffic would be stopped, none but 
festal barges might cross from Thebes, or such boats as 
ferried over pilgrims — men, women, and children, whether 
natives or foreigners, who were to take part in the great 
procession. 

In the halls and work-rooms of the House of Seti there 
was unusual stir. The great miracle of the wonderful 
heart had left but a short time for the preparations for the 
festival. Here a chorus was being practiced, then on the 
sacred lake* a scenic representation was being rehearsed; 
here the statues of the gods were being cleaned and 
dressed,! and the colors of the sacred emblems were being 
revived, there the panther-skins and other parts of the 
ceremonial vestments of the priests were being aired and 
set out; here scepters, censers and other metal- vessels were 
being cleaned, and there the sacred bark which was to be 
carried in the procession was being decorated. In the 
sacred groves of the temple the school-boys, under the 
direction of the gardeners, wove garlands and wreaths to 
decorate the landing-places, the sphinxes, the temple, and 
.the statues of the gods. Flags were hoisted on the brass- 

* Every temple had its sacred lake or tank, and Herodotus speaks 
of the representations he saw at night on the sacred lake of Neith at 
Sais. “They call them mysteries,” he says, “ and, though I know 
much about them, I will be silent out of reverence.” The myths of 
Isis, Osiris and Seth-Typhon were represented. 

f The Stolistes had the duty of dressing the figures of the gods, 
and on some of the reliefs there are still little hooks on which the 
drapery was hung. The dressing and undressing of the holy images 
was conducted in strict accordance with a prescribed ritual. The 
inscription in the seven sanctuaries of Abydos, published by 
Mariette, are full of instruction as to these ordinances, which were 
significant in every detail. 


266 


VARDA. 


tipped masts in front of the pylon, and purple sails were 
spread to give shadow to the court. 

The inspector of sacrifices was already receiving at a 
side door the cattle, corn and fruit offerings which were 
brought as tribute to the House of Seti, by citizens from 
all parts of the country, on the occasion of the festival of 
the Valley, and he was assisted by scribes, who kept 
an account of all that was brought in by the able-bodied 
temple-servants and laboring serfs. 

Ameni was everywhere; now with the singers, now with 
the magicians, who were to effect wonderful transforma- 
tions before the astonished multitude; now with the work- 
men, who were erecting thrones for the regent, the emis- 
saries from other collegiate foundations — even from so far 
as the Delta — and the prophets from Thebes; now with 
the priests, who were preparing the incense, now with the 
servants, who were trimming the thousand lamps for the 
illumination at night — in short everywhere; here inciting, 
there praising. When he had convinced himself that all 
was going on well he desired one of the priests to call 
Pentaur. 

After the departure of the exiled Prince Rameri, the 
young priest had gone to the work-room of his friend 
Nebsecht. 

The leech went uneasily from his phials to his cages, and 
from his cages back to his flasks. While he told Pentaur 
of the state he had found his room in on his return home, 
he wandered about in feverish excitement, unable to keep 
still, now kicking over a bundle of plants, now thumping 
down his fist on the table; his favorite birds were starved 
to death, his snakes had escaped, and his ape had followed 
their example, apparently in his fear of them. 

“The brute, the monster!” cried Nebsecht, in a rage. 
“ He has thrown over the jars with the beetles in them, 
opened the chest of meal that I feed the birds and insects 
upon, and rolled about in it; he has thrown my knives, 
prickers, and forceps, my pins, compasses, and reed-pens 
all out of the window; and when I came in he was sitting 
on the cupboard up there, looking just like a black slave 
that works night and day in a corn-mill; he had got hold 
of the roll which contained all my observations on the 
structure of animals — the result of years of study — and was 


UARDA. 


m 

looking at it gravely with his head on one side. I wanted 
to take the book from him, but he fled with the roll, sprang 
out of window, let himself down to the edge of the well/ 
and tore and rubbed the manuscript to pieces in a rage. 
I leaped out after him, but he jumped into the bucket, 
took hold of the chain, and let himself down, grinning at 
me in mockery, and when I drew him up again he jumped 
into the water with the remains of the book.” 

“And the poor wretch is drowned?” asked Pentaur. 

“I fished him up with the bucket, and laid him to dry 
in the sun; but he had been tasting all sorts of medicines, 
and he died at noon.. My observations are gone! Some of 
them certainly are still left; however, I must begin again 
at the beginning. You see apes object as much to my 
labors as sages; there lies the beast on the shelf.” 

Pentaur had laughed at his friend’s story, and then 
lamented his loss; but now he said anxiously: 

“ He is lying there on the shelf? But you forget that 
he ought to have been kept in. the little oratory of Toth, 
near the library. He belongs to the sacred dog-faced 
apes,* and all the sacred marks were found upon him. 
The librarian gave him into your charge to have his bad 
eye cured.” 

“ That was quite well,” answered Nebsecht, carelessly. 

“ But they will require the uninjured corpse of you, to 
embalm it,” said Pentaur. 

“Will they?” muttered Nebsecht; and he looked at his 
friend like a boy who is asked for an apple that has long 
been eaten. 

“And you have already been doing something with it,” 
said Pentaur, in a tone of friendly vexation. 

The leech nodded. “ I have opened him, and examined 
his heart.” 

“ You are as much set on hearts as a coquette!” said 
Pentaur. “ What is become of the human heart that the 
old paraschites was to get for you?” 


*Tlie dog-faced baboon, Kynokephalos, was sacred to Totb as the 
Moon-god. Mummies of these apes have been found at Tliebes and 
Hermopolis, and they are often represented as reading with much 
gravity. Statues of them have been found in great quantities, and 
there is a particularly life-like picture of a Kynokephalos in relief 
on the left wall of the library of the temple of Isis at Philoe. 


268 


VARDA. 


Nebsecht related without reserve what the old man had 
done for him, and said that he had investigated the 
human heart, and had found nothing in it different from 
what he had discovered in the heart of beasts. 

“But I must see it in connection with the other organs of 
the human body,” cried he: “and my decision is made. 
I shall leave the House of Seti, and ask the kolchytes to 
take me into their guild. If it is necessary I will first per- 
form the duties of the lowest paraschites.” 

Pentaur pointed out to the leech what a bad exchange 
he would be making, and at last exclaimed, when Nebsecht 
eagerly contradicted him: “This dissecting of the heart 
does not please me. You say yourself that you learned 
nothing by it. I)o you still think it a right thing, a fine 
thing — or simply useless?” 

“Ido not trouble myself about it,” replied Nebsecht. 
“ Whether my observations seem good or evil, right or 
heinous, useful or useless, I want to know how things are, 
nothing more.” 

“And so for mere curiosity,” cried Pentaur, “you 
would endanger the blissful future of thousands of your 
fellow-men, take upon yourself the most abject duties, and 
leave this noble scene of your labors, where we all strive 
for enlightenment, for inward knowledge and truth.” 

The naturalist laughed scornfully ; the veins swelled 
angrily in PentauPs forehead, and his voice took a threat- 
ening tone as he asked: 

‘ And do you believe that your fingers and your eyes 
have lighted on the truth, when the noblest souls have 
striven in vain for thousands of years to find it out? You 
descend beneath the level of human understanding by 
madly wallowing in the mire; and the more clearly you 
are convinced that you have seized the truth, the more 
utterly are you involved in the toils of a miserable 
delusion.” 

“If I believed I knew the truth should I so eagerly seek 
it?” asked Nebsecht. “ The more I observe and learn, the 
more deeply I feel my want of knowledge and power.” 

“That sounds modest enough,” said the poet, “but I 
know the arrogance to which your labors are leading you. 
Everything that you see with your own eyes and touch 
with your own hand, you think infallible, and everything 


UARDA, 


269 


that escapes your observation you secretly regard as 
untrue, and pass by with a smile of superiority. But you 
cannot carry your experiments beyond the external world, 
and you forget that there are things which lie in a differ- 
ent realm.” 

“ I know nothing of those things,” answered Nebsecht, 
quietly. 

“But we — the initiated,” cried Pentaur, “turn our 
attention to them also. Thoughts — traditions — as to their 
conditions and agency have existed among us for a thou- 
sand years; hundreds of generations of men have examined 
these traditions, have approved them, and have handed them 
down to us. All our knowledge, it is true, is defective, and 
yet prophets have been favored with the gift of looking 
into the future; magic powers have been vouchsafed to mor- 
tals. All this is contrary to the laws of the external world, 
which are all that you recognize, and yet it can easily be ex- 
plained if we accept the idea of a higher order of tilings. 
The spirit of the divinity dwells in each of us, as in nature. 
The natural man can only attain to such knowledge as is 
common to all; but it is the divine capacity for serene dis- 
cernment — which is omniscience — that works in the seer; it 
is the divine and unlimited power — which is omnipotence 
— that from time to time enables the magician to produce 
supernatural effects!” 

“Away with prophets and marvels!” cried Nebsecht. 

“ I should have thought,” said Pentaur, “ that even the 
laws of nature which you recognize presented the greatest 
marvels daily to your eyes; nay the Supreme One does not 
disdain sometimes so break through the common order of 
things, 'in order to reveal to that portion of Himself which 
we call our soul, the sublime Whole of which we form part 
— Himself. Only to day you have seen how the heart of 
the sacred ram ” 

“Man, man!” JSTebsecht interrupted, “ the sacred heart 
is the heart of a hapless sheep that a sot of a soldier sold 
for a trifle to a haggling grazier, and that was slaughtered 
in a common herd. A worthy paraschites put it into the 
body of Rui, and — and — ” he opened the cupboard, threw 
the carcass of the ape and some clothes on to the floor, and 
took out an alabaster bowl which he held before the poet 
—“the muscles you see here in brine, this machine* once 


m 


TJARDA. 


beat in the breast of the prophet Rui. My sheep’s heart 
will be carried to-morrow in the procession! I would have 
told you all about it if I had not promised the old man to 
hold my tongue, and then — But what ails you, man?” 

Pentaur had turned away from his friend, and covered 
his face with his hands, and he groaned as if he were suf- 
fering some frightful physical pain. 

Nebsecht divined what was passing in the mind of his 
friend. Like a child that has to ask forgiveness of its 
mother for some misdeed, he went close up to Pentaur, but 
stood trembling behind him, not daring to speak to him. 

Several minutes passed. Suddenly Pentaur raised his 
head, lifted his hands to heaven; and cried: 

“ 0 Thou! the One! — ‘though stars may fall from the 
heavens in summer nights, still Thy eternal and immuta- 
ble laws guide the never-resting* planets in their paths. 
Thou pure and all- pervading Spirit, that dwellest in me, 
as I know by my horror of a lie, manifest Thyself in me — 
as light when I think, as mercy when I act, and when I 
speak, as truth — always as truth!” 

The poet spoke these words with absorbed fervor, and 
Nebsecht heard them as if they were speech from some 
distant and beautiful world. He went affectionately up 
to his friend, and eagerly held out his hand. Pentaur 
grasped it, pressed it warmly, and said: 

“That was a fearful moment! You do not know what 
Ameni has been to me, and now, now!” 

He hardly had ceased speaking when steps were heard 
approaching the physician’s room, and a young priest re- 
quested the friends to appear at once in the meeting-room 
of the Initiated. In a few moments they both entered the 
great hall, which was brilliantly lighted. 

Hot one of the chiefs of the House of Seti was absent. 

Ameni sat on a raised seat at a long table; on his right 
hand was old Gagabu, on his left the third prophet of the 
temple. The principals of the different orders of priests 
had also found places at the table, and among them the 
chief of the haruspices, while the rest of the priests, all in 
snow-white linen robes, sat, with much dignity, in a large 


*In the sacred writings the planets are called “the Never-resting. 


UARDA. 271 

semicircle, two rows deep. In the midst stood a statue of 
the goddess of Truth and Justice. 

Behind Ameni's throne was the many-colored image of 
the ibis-headed Toth, who presided over the measure and 
method of things, who counseled the gods as well as men, 
and presided over learning and the arts. In a niche at 
the further end of the hall were painted the divine Triad of 
Thebes, with Rameses I and his son Seti, who approached 
them with offerings. The priests were placed with strict 
regard to their rank, and the order of initiation. Pentaur's 
was the lowest place of all. 

No discussion of any importance had as yet taken place, 
for Ameni was making inquiries, receiving information, 
and giving orders with reference to the next day's festival. 
All seemed to be well arranged, and promised a magnificent 
solemnity; although the scribes complained of the scarce 
influx of beasts from the peasants, who were so heavily 
taxed for the war; and although that feature would be 
wanting in the procession which was wont to give it the 
greatest splendor — the presence of the king and the royal 
family. 

This circumstance aroused the disapprobation of some of 
the priests, who were of opinion that it would be hazardous 
to exclude the two children of Rameses, who remained in 
Thebes, from any share in the solemnities of the feast. 

Ameni then rose. 

“ We have sent the boy Rameri,” he said, “ away from 
this house. Bent-Anat must be purged of her uncleanness, 
and if the weak superior of the temple of Amon absolves 
her, she may pass for purified over there, where they live 
for this world only, but not here, where it is our duty to 
prepare the soul for death. The regent, a descendant of 
the great deposed race of kings, will appear in the proces- 
sion with all the splendor of his rank. I see you are sur- 
prised, my friends. Only he! Ay! Great things are 
stirring, and it may happen that soon the mild sun of 
peace may rise upon our war-ridden people. 

“Miracles are happening," he continued, “and in a 
dream I saw a gentle and pious man on the throne of the 
earthly vicar of Ra. He listened to our counsel, he gave 
us our due, and led back to our fields our serfs that had 
been sent to the war; he overthrew the altars of the strange 


m 


UARDA. 


gods, and drove the unclean stranger out from this holy 
land.” 

“ The Regent Ani!” exclaimed Septah. 

An eager movement stirred the assembly, but Ameni 
went on: 

“ Perhaps it was not unlike him, but he certainly was 
the One; he had the features of the true and legitimate de- 
scendants of Ra, to whom Rui was faithful, in whose 
breast the heart of the sacred ram found a refuge. 
To-morrow this pledge of the divine grace shall be 
shown to the people, and another mercy will also be an- 
nounced to them. Hear and praise the dispensations of 
the Most High! An hour ago I received the news that a 
new Apis, with all the sacred marks upon him, has been 
found in the herds of Ani at Hermonthis.” 

Fresh excitement was shown by the listening conclave. 
Ameni let their astonishment express itself freely, but at 
last he exclaimed: 

“ And now to settle the last question. The priest Pen- 
taur, who is now present, has been appointed speaker at 
the festival to-morrow. He has erred greatly, yet I think 
we need not judge him till after the holy day, and, in 
consideration of liis former innocence, need not deprive 
him of the honorable office. Do you share my wishes? 
Is there no dissentient voice? Then come forward, you, 
the youngest of us all, who are so highly trusted by this 
holy assembly.” 

Pentaur rose and placed himself opposite to Ameni in 
order to give, as he was required to do, a broad outline of 
the speech he proposed to deliver next day to the nobles 
and the people. 

The whole assembly, even his opponents, listened to 
him with approbation. Ameni, too, praised him, but 
added: 

“ I miss only one thing on which you must dwell at 
greater length, and treat with warmer feeling — I mean 
the miracle which has stirred our souls to-day. We must 
show that the gods brought the sacred heart ” 

“Allow me,” said Pentaur, interrupting the high-priest, 
and looking earnestly into those eyes which long since he 
had sung of, “ allow me to entreat you not to select me to 
declare this new marvel to the people.” 


UARDA. 


2?3 


Astonishment was stamped on the face of every mem- 
ber of the assembly. Each looked at his neighbor, then 
at Pen tan r, and at last inquiringly at Ameni. The 
superior knew Pentaur, and saw that no mere whimsical 
fancy, but some serious motive, had given rise to this re- 
fusal. Horror, almost aversion, had rung in his tone as 
he said the words “new marvel.” 

He doubted the genuineness of this divine manifestation. 

Ameni gazed long and inquiringly into PentauPs eyes, 
and then said: “You are right, my friend. Before judg- 
ment has been passed on you, before you are reinstated in 
your old position, your lips are not worthy to announce 
this divine wonder to the multitude. Look into your own 
soul, and teach the devout a horror of sin, and show them 
the way, which you must now tread, of purification of the 
heart. I myself will announce the miracle.” 

The white-robed audience hailed this decision of their 
master with satisfaction. Ameni enjoined this thing on 
one, on another, that; and on all, perfect silence as to the 
dream which he had related to them, and then he dis- 
solved the meeting. He begged only Gagabu and Pentaur 
to remain. 

As soon as they were alone Ameni asked the poet: 
“ Why did you refuse to announce to the people the 
miracle which has filled all the priests of the Necropolis 
with joy?” 

“Because thou hast taught me,” replied Pentaur, “that 
truth is the highest aim we can have, and that there is 
nothing higher.” 

“I tell you so again now,” said Ameni. “And as you 
recognize this doctrine, I ask you, in the name of the fair 
daughter of Ra, Do you doubt the genuineness of the 
miracle that took place under our very eyes?” 

“I doubt it,” replied Pentaur. 

“ Remain on the high standpoint of veracity,” continued 
Ameni, “and tell us further, that we may learn, what are 
the scruples that shake your faith?” 

“I know,” replied the poet, with a dark expression, 
“ that the heart which the crowd will approach and bow 
to, before which even the Initiated prostrate themselves as 
if it had been the incarnation of Ra, was torn from the 
bleeding carcass of a common sheep, and smuggled into 
the kanopus which contained the entrails of Rui,” 


274 


UARDA. 


Ameni drew back a step, and Gagabu cried out : “ Who 
says so? Who can prove it? As I grow older I hear more 
and more frightful things!” 

“ I know it,” said Pentaur, decidedly. “ But I cannot 
reveal the name of him from whom I learned it.” 

“ Then we may believe that you are mistaken, and that 
some imposter is fooling you. We will inquire who has 
devised such a trick, and he shall be punished. To scorn 
the voice of the Divinity is a sin, and he who lends his ear 
to a lie is far from the truth. Sacred and thrice sacred is 
the heart, blind fool, that I purpose to-morrow to show to 
the people, and before which you yourself — if not with 
good will, then by compulsion — shall fall, prostrate in the 
dust. 

“ Go now, and reflect on the words with which you will 
stir the souls of the people to-morrow morning; but know 
one thing — Truth has many forms, and her aspects are as 
manifold as those of the Godhead. As the sun does not 
travel over a level plain or by a straight path — as the stars 
follow a circuitous course, which we compare with the 
windings of the snake Mehen* — so the elect, who look 
out over time and space, and on whom the conduct of 
human life devolves, are not only permitted, but com- 
manded, to follow indirect ways in order to reach the high- 
est aims, ways that you do not understand, and which you 
may fancy deviate widely from the path of truth. You 
look only at to-day, we look forward to to-morrow, and 
what we announce as truth you must needs believe. And 
mark my words: A lie stains the soul, but doubt eats into 
it.” 

Ameni had spoken with strong excitement; when Pen* 
taur had left the room, and he was alone with Gagabu, he 
exclaimed: 

“ What things are these? Who is ruining the innocent 
child-like spirit of this highly favored youth?” 

* The snake Mehen (termed in the texts proceeding “ from what is 
in the abyss ”) is frequently represented in waves and curves, sym- 
bolizing the winding course of the sun during the night, in the 
under - world. Mythological figures of snakes have quite as often 
a benevolent as a malevolent significance; snakes were kept in every 
temple, and mummies of snakes, particularly of Vipera cerastes, are 
found at Thebes. Plutarch says the snake was held sacred because 
it glides along without limbs, like the stars, 


TJAUBA. 


275 

“He is ruining himself,” replied Gagabu. “He is 
putting aside the old law, for he feels a new one growing 
up in his own breast.” 

“But the laws,” exclaimed Ameni, “ grow and spread 
like shadowy woods; they are made by no one. I loved 
the poet, yet I must restrain him, else he will break down 
all barriers, like the Nile when it swells too high. And 
what he says of the miracle ” 

“Did you devise it?” 

“By the Holy One — no!” cried Ameni. 

“And yet Pentaur is sincere, and inclined to faith,” said 
the old man, doubtfully. 

“I know it,” returned Ameni. “It happened as he 
said. But who did it, and who told him of the shameful 
deed?” 

Both the priests stood thoughtfully gazing at the floor. 

Ameni first broke the silence. 

“Pentaur came in with Nebseclit,” he exclaimed, “and 
they are intimate friends. Where was the leech while I 
was staying in Thebes?” 

“ He was taking care of the child hurt by Bent-Anat — 
the child of the paraschites Pinem, and he stayed there 
three days,” replied Gagabu. 

“And it was Pinem,” said Ameni, “that opened the 
body of Bui! It was that inquisitive stutterer, and he shall 
be made to repent of it. For the present let ns think of 
to-morrow’s feast, but the day after I will examine that 
nice couple, and will act with iron severity.” 

“First let us examine the naturalist in private,” said 
Gagabu, “He is an ornament to the temple, for he has 
investigated many matters, and his dexterity is wonder- 
ful.” 

“ All that may be considered after the festival,” Ameni 
said, interrupting the old man. “We have enough to 
think of at present.” 

“ And even more to consider later,” retorted Gagabu. 
“We have entered on a dangerous path. You know very 
well I am still hot-headed, though I am old in years, and 
alas! timidity was never my weakness; but Bameses is a 
powerful man, and duty compels me to ask you, is it mere 
hatred for the king that has led you to take these hasty 
and imprudent steps?” 


276 


UAUBA. 


“I have no hatred for Rameses,” answered Ameni, 
gravely. “If he did not wear the crown I could love him; I 
know him too, as well as if I were his brother, and value all 
that is great in him; nay, I will admit that he is disfigured by 
no littleness. If I did not know how strong the enemy is, 
we might try to overthrow him with smaller means. You 
know as well as I do that he is our enemy. Not yours, nor 
mine, nor the enemy of the gods; but the enemy of the 
old and reverend ordinances by which this people and 
this country must be governed, and above all of those who are 
required to protect the wisdom of the fathers, and to point 
out the right way to the sovereign — I mean the priest- 
hood, whom it is my duty to lead, and for whose rights I 
will fight with every weapon of the spirit. In this contest, 
as you know, all that otherwise would be falsehood, 
treachery, and cunning, puts on the bright aspect of light 
and truth. As the physician needs the knife and fire to 
heal the sick, we must do fearful things to save the com- 
munity when it is in danger. Now you will see me fight 
with every weapon, for if we remain idle we shall soon 
cease to be the leaders of the state, and become the slaves 
of the king.” 

Gagabu nodded assent, but Ameni went on with increas- 
ing warmth, and in that rhythmical accent in which, 
when he came out of the holy of holies, he was accus- 
tomed to declare the will of the Divinity: “You were 
my teacher, and I value you, and so you now shall be told 
everything that stirred my soul, and made me first 
resolve upon this fearful struggle. I was, as you know, 
brought up in this temple with Rameses — and it was very 
wise of Seti to let his son grow up here with other boys. 
At work and at play the heir to the throne and I won 
every prize. He was quite my superior in swift apprehen- 
sion — in keen perception — but I had greater caution, and 
deeper purpose. Often he laughed at my laborious efforts, 
but his brilliant powers appeared to me a vain delusion. 
I became one of the initiated, he ruled the state in part- 
nership with his father, and, when Seti died, by himself. 
We both grew older, but the foundation of our characters 
remained the same. He rushed to splendid victories, 
overthrew nations, and raised the glory of the Egyptian 
name to a giddy height, though stained with the blood of 


UARDA. 


his people ; I passed my life in industry and labor, in 
teaching the young, and in guarding the laws which regu- 
late the intercourse of men and bind the people to the 
Divinity. I compared the present with the past: What 
were the priests? How had they come to be what they 
are? What would Egypt be without them? There is not 
an art, not a science, not a faculty that is not thought 
out, constructed, and practiced by us. We crown the 
kings, we named the gods, and taught the people to honor 
them as divine — for the crown needs a hand to lead it, and 
under which it shall tremble as under the mighty hand 
of fate. We are the willing ministers of the divine repre- 
sentative of Ra on the throne, so long as he rules in ac- 
cordance with our institutions — as the One God reigns, 
subject to eternal laws. He used to choose his counsellors 
from among us; we told him what would benefit the coun- 
try, he heard us willingly, and executed our plans. The 
old kings were the hands, but we, the priests, were the 
head. And now, my father, what has become of us? We 
are made use of to keep the people in the faith, for if they 
cease to honor the gods how will they submit to kings? 
Seti ventured much, his son risks still more, and therefore 
both have required much succor from the immortals. 
Rameses is pious, he sacrifices frequently, and loves prayer; 
we are necessary to him, to waft incense, to slaughter 
hecatombs, to offer prayers, and to interpret dreams — but 
we are no longer his advisers. My father, now in Osiris, 
a worthier high-priest than I, was charged by the prophets 
to entreat his father to give up the guilty project of con- 
necting the north sea by a navigable channel with the 
unclean waters of the Red Sea.* Such things can only 
benefit the Asiatics. But Seti would not listen to our 
counsel. Wo desired to preserve the old division of the 
land, but Rameses introduced the new to the disadvantage 
of the priests; we warned him against fresh wars, and the 
king again and again has taken the field; we had the 

* Tlie harbors of the Red Sea were in the hands of the Phoenicians, 
who sailed from thence southward to enrich themselves with the 
produce of Arabia and Ophir. Pharaoh Necho also projected a Suez 
canal, but does not appear to have carried it out, as the oracle 
declared that the utility of the undertaking would be greatest to 
foreigners. 


278 


VARDA. 


ancient sacred documents which exempted our peasantry 
from military service, and, as you know, he outrageously 
defies them. From the most ancient times no one has 
been permitted to raise temples in this land to strange 
gods, and Rameses favors the son of the stranger, and, 
not only in the north country, but in the reverend city of 
Memphis and here in Thebes, he has raised altars and 
magnificent sanctuaries, in the strangers’ quarter, to the 
sanguinary* false gods of the East.” 

“ You speak like a Seer,” cried old Gagabu, “and what 
you say is perfectly true. We are still called priests, but 
alas! our counsel is little asked. ‘ You have to prepare 
men for a happy lot in the other world,’ Rameses once said; 
‘I alone can guide their destinies in this.’ ” 

“He did say so,” answered Ameni, “ and if he had said 
no more than that he would have been doomed. He and 
his house are the enemies of our rights and of our noble 
country. Need I tell you from whom the race of the 
Pharaoh is descended? Formerly the hosts who came from 
the east, and fell on our land like swarms of locusts, rob- 
bing and destroying it, were spoken of as ‘a curse’ and a 
‘pest.’ Rameses’ father was of that race. When Ani’s 
ancestors expelled the Hyksos, the bold chief, whose chil- 
dren now govern Egypt, obtained the favor of being 
allowed to remain on the banks of the Nile; they served 
in the armies, they distinguished themselves, and, at last, 
the first Rameses succeeded in gaining the troops over to 
himself, and in pushing the old race of the legitimate sons 
of Ra, weakened as they were by heresy, from the throne. 
I must confess, however unwillingly, that some priests of 
the true faith — among them your grandfather and mine — 
supported the daring usurper who clung faithfully to the 
old traditions. Not less than a hundred generations of my 
ancestors, and of yours, and of many other priestly families, 
have lived and died here by the banks of the Nile— of 
Rameses’ race we have seen ten, and only know of them 
that they descend from strangers, from the caste of Amu! 
He is like all the Semitic race; they love to wander, they 
call us plowmen,f and laugh to scorn the sober regularity 

* Human sacrifices, which had been introduced into Egypt by the 
Phoenicians, were very early abolished. 

fThe word Fellah (pi. Fellahin) means plowman. 


XI ART) A. 


279 


with which we, tilling the dark soil, live through our 
lives to a tardy death, in honest labor both of mind and 
body. They sweep round on foraying excursions, ride the 
salt waves in ships, and know no loved and fixed home; 
they settle down wherever they are tempted by rapine, and 
when there is nothing more to be got they build a house 
in another spot. Such was Seti, such is Rameses! For a 
year he will stop in Thebes, then he must set out for wars 
in strange lands. He does not know how to yield piously, 
or to take advice of wise counsellors, and he will not learn. 
And such as the father is, so are the children! Think of 
the criminal behavior of Bent-Anat! 

“ I said the kings liked foreigners. Have you duly con- 
sidered the importance of that to us? We strive for high 
and noble aims, and have wrenched off the shackles of the 
flesh in order to guard our souls. The poorest man lives 
secure under the shelter of the law, and through us par- 
ticipates in the gifts of the spirit; to the rich are offered 
the priceless treasures of art and learning. How look 
abroad, east and west wandering tribes roam over the 
desert with wretched tents; in the south a debased populace 
prays to feathers, and to abject idols, who are beaten if the 
worshiper is not satisfied. In the north certainly there 
are well regulated states, but the best part of the arts and 
sciences which they possess they owe to us, and their altars 
will reek with the loathsome sacrifice of human blood. Only 
backsliding from the right is possible under the stranger, 
and therefore it is prudent to withdraw from him; there- 
fore he is hateful to our gods. And Rameses, the king, is a 
stranger, by blood and by nature, in his affections, and in 
his appearance; his thoughts are always abroad — this 
country is too small for him — and he will never perceive 
what is really best for him, clear as his intellect is. He 
will listen to no guidance, he does mischief to Egypt, and 
therefore I say: Down with him from the throne !” 

“Down with him!” Gagabu eagerly echoed the words. 
Ameni gave the old man his hand, which trembled with 
excitement, and went on more calmly. 

“ The Regent Ani is a legitimate child of the soil, by 
his father and mother both. I know him well, and I am 
sure that though he is cunning indeed, he is full of true 
veneration, and will righteously establish us in the rights 


280 


UARDA. 


which we have inherited. The choice is easy; I have 
chosen, and I always carry through what I have once 
begun! Now you know all, and you will second me.” 

“With body and soul!” cried Gagabu. 

“Strengthen the hearts of the brethren,” said Ameni, 
preparing to go. “The initiated may all guess what is 
going on, but it must never be spoken of.” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

The sun was up on the twenty-ninth morning of the 
second month of the overflow of the Nile,* and citizens 
and their wives, old men and children, freemen and 
slaves, led by priests, did homage to the rising day-star 
before the door of the temple to which the quarter of the 
town belonged where each one dwelt. 

The Thebans stood together like huge families before 
the pylons, waiting for the processions of priests, which 
they intended to join in order to march in their train 
round the great temple of the city, and thence to cross 
with the festal barks to the Necropolis. 

To-day was the feast of the Valley, and Amon, the 
great God of Thebes, was carried over in solemn pomp to 
the City of the Dead, in order that he — as the priests said — 
might sacrifice to his fathers in the other world. The 
train marched westward; for there, where the earthly re- 
mains of man also found rest, the millions of suns had 
disappeared, each of which was succeeded daily by a new 
one, born of the night. The young luminary, the priests 
said, did not forget those that had been extinguished, and 
from whom he was descended; and Amon paid them this 
mark of respect to warn the devout not to forget those 
who were passed away, and to whom they owed their 
existence. 

“Bring offerings,” says a pious text, “to thy father 
and thy mother who rest in the valley of the tombs; for 
he who gives these offerings is as acceptable to the gods 

* Tlie twenty-ninth Phaophi. The Egyptians divided the year into 
three seasons of four months each. Flood time, Seed - time and 
Harvest. { Scha per and scliemu.) The twenty-ninth Phaophi corre- 
sponds to the eighth of November. 


TTARDA. 


281 


as if they were brought to themselves. Often visit thy 
dead, so that what thou dost for them, thy son may do for 
thee.”* 

The feast of the Valley was a feast of the dead; but it 
was not a melancholy solemnity, observed with lamenta- 
tion and wailing ; on the contrary, it was a cheerful 
festival, devoted to pious and sentimental memories of 
those whom we cease not to love after death, whom we 
esteem happy and blessed, and of whom we think with 
affection; to whom too the throng from Thebes brought 
offerings, forming groups in the chapel-like tombs, or in 
front of the graves, to eat and drink. 

Father, mother and children clung together; the house- 
slaves followed with provisions, and with torches, which 
would light up the darkness of the tomb and show the way 
home at night. 

Even the poorest had taken care to secure beforehand a 
place in one of the large boats which conveyed the people 
across the stream; the barges of the rich, "dressed in the 
gayest colors, awaited their owners with their households, 
and the children had dreamed all night of the sacred bark 
of Amon, whose splendor, as their mothers told them, was 
hardly less than that of the golden'boat in which the Sun- 
god and his companions make their daily voyage across 
the ocean of heaven. The broad landing-place of the 
temple of Amon was already crowded with priests, the 
shore with citizens, and the river with boats; already loud 
music drowned the din of the crowds, who thronged and 
pushed, enveloped in clouds of dust, to reach the boats; 

< the houses and hovels of Thebes were all empty, and the 
advent of the god through the temple gates was eagerly 
expected; but still the members of the royal family had 
inot anneared. who were wont on this solemn day to go on 



Amon; and, in the crowd 


many a one asked his neighbor why Bent-Anat, the fair 
daughter of Kameses, lingered so long, and delayed the 
starting of the procession. 

The priests had begun their chant within the walls, 

* From the Papyrus IV, at Bulaq, which contains moral precepts. 
It has been published by Mariette, and translated by Brugscli, E. de 
Rouge, and lastly treated with admirable analysis by Chabas, in 
L’ %yptologie. 


283 


UARDA. 


which debarred the outer world from any glimpse into the 
bright precincts of the temple; the regent with his brill- 
iant train had entered the sanctuary; the gates were 
thrown open; the youths in their short aprons, who threw 
flowers in the path of the god, had come out ; clouds of 
incense announced the approach of Amon — and still the 
daughter of Rameses appeared not. 

Many rumors were afloat, most of them contradictory; 
but one was accurate, and confirmed by the temple serv- 
ants, to the great regret of the crowd — Bent-Anat was 
excluded from the feast of the Valley. 

She stood on her balcony with her brother Rameri and 
her friend Nefert, and looked down on the river, and on 
the approaching god. 

Early in the previous morning Bek-en-Chunsu, the old 
high-priest of the temple of Amon, had pronounced her 
clean, but in the evening he had come to communicate to 
her the intelligence that Ameni prohibited her entering 
the Necropolis before she had obtained the forgiveness of 
the gods of the West for her offence. 

While still under the ban of uncleanness she had visited 
the temple of Hathor, and had defiled it by her presence; . 
and the stern superior of the City of the Dead was in the ; 
right — that Bek-en-Chunsu himself admitted — in closing 
the western shore against her. Bent-Anat then had re- < 
course to Ani; but, although he promised to meditate fori 
her, he came late in the evening to tell her that Ameni i 
was inexorable. The regent at the same time, with every] 
appearance of regret, advised her to avoid an open quarrel, ! 
and not to defy Amends lofty severity, but to remain 
absent from the festival. 

Katuti at the same time sent the dwarf to Nefert to 
desire her to join her mother, in taking part in the pro- 
cession, and in sacrificing in her father’s tomb; but Nefert 
replied that she neither could nor would leave her royal 
friend and mistress. 

Bent-Anat had given leave of absence to the highest 
members of her household, and had prayed them to think 
of her at the splendid solemnity. 

When, from her balcony, she saw the mob of people and 
the crowd of boats, she went back into her room, called 
Rameri, who was angrily declaiming at what he called 
Ameni’s insolence, took his hands in hers and said: 


UAtiDA. 


283 


u We have both done wrong, brother; let us patiently 
submit to the consequences of our faults, and conduct our- 
selves as if our father were with us.” 

“He would tear the panther-skin from the haughty 
priest's shoulders,” cried Rameri, “ if he dared to humili- 
ate you so in his presence;” and tears of rage ran down his 
smooth cheeks as he spoke. 

“ Put anger aside,” said Bent Anat. “ You were still 
quite little the last time my father took part in this 
festival.” 

“Oh! I remember that morning well,” exclaimed 
Rameri, “and shall never forget it.” 

“ So I should think,” said the princess. “ Do not leave 
us, Keferb — you are now my sister. It was a glorious 
morning; we children were collected in the great hall of 
the king, all in festival dresses; he had us called into this 
room, which had been inhabited by my mother, who then 
had been dead only a few months. He took each of us by 
the hand, and said he forgave us everything we might 
have done wrong if only we were sincerely penitent, and 
gave us each a kiss on our forehead. Then he beckoned 
us all to him, and said, as humbly as if he were one of us 
instead of the great king, ‘ Perhaps I may have done one 
of you some injustice, or have kept you out of some right; 
I am not conscious of such a thing, but if it has occurred 
I am very sorry ' — we all rushed upon him, and wanted to 
kiss him, but he put us aside smiling, and said, ‘ Each of 
you has enjoyed an equal share of one thing, that you may 
be sure — I mean your father's lgve; and I see now that 
you return what I have given yon.' Then he spoke of our 
mother, and said that even the tenderest father could not 
fill the place of a mother. He drew a lovely picture of 
the unselfish devotion of the dead mother, and desired us 
to pray and to sacrifice with him at her resting-place, and 
to resolve to be worthy of her; not only in great things 
but in trifles too, for they make up the sum of life, as 
hours make the days, and the years. We elder ones 
clasped each other's hands, and I never felt happier than 
in that moment, and afterward by my mother's grave.” 

Nefert raised her eyes that were wet with tears. 

“With such a father it must be easy to be good,” she 
said. 


284 


UARDA. 


“ Did your mother never speak good words that went 
to your heart on the morning of this festival?” asked Bent- 
Anat. ^ 

Nefert colored, and answered: “ We were always late 
in dressing, and then had to hurry to be at the temple in 
time.” 

“ Then let me be your mother to-day,” cried the prin- 
cess, “ and yours too, Rameri. Do you not remember how 
my father offered forgiveness to the officers of the court, 
and to all the servants, and how he enjoined us to root out 
every grudge from our hearts on this day? 4 Only stainless 
garments/ he said, ‘ befit this feast; only hearts without 
spot/ So, brother, I will not hear an evil word about 
Ameni, who is most likely forced to be severe by the law; 
my father will inquire into it all and decide. My heart is 
so full it must overflow. Come, Nefert, give me a kiss, 
and you too, Rameri. Now I will go into my little temple, 
in which the images of our ancestors stand, and think of 
my mother and the blessed spirits of those loved ones to 
whom I may not sacrifice to-day.” 

* “I will go with you,” said Rameri. 

“ You, Nefert, stay here,” said Bent-Anat, “ and cut as 
many flowers as you like; take the best and finest, and 
make a wreath, and when it is ready we will send a mes- 
senger across to lay it, with other gifts, on the grave of 
your Mena’s mother.” 

When, half an hour later, the brother and sister returned, 
to the young wife, two graceful garlands hung in Nefert’s 
hands, one for the grave of the dead queen and one for 
Mena's mother. 

“I will carry over the wreaths and lay them in the 
tombs,” cried the prince. 

“Ani thought it would be better that we should not 
show ourselves to the people,” said his sister. “ They will 
scarcely notice that you are not among the school-boys, 
but ” 

“ But I will not go over as the king’s son, but as a gar- 
dener’s boy,” interrupted the prince. “ Listen to the 
flourish of trumpets! the god has now passed through the 
gates.” 

Rameri stepped out into the balcony, and the two women 
followed him and looked down on the scene of the em- 


UARDA. 


285 


barkation, which they could easily see with their sharp 
young eyes. 

“It will be a thinner and poorer procession* without 
either my father or us, that is one comfort,” said Rameri. 
“The chorus is magnificent; here come the plume-bearers 
and singers; there is the chief prophet of the great temple, 
old Bek-en-Chunsu. How dignified he looks; but he will 
not like going. Now the god is coming, for I smell the 
incense.” 

With these words the prince fell on his knees and the 
women followed his example — when they saw first a noble 
bull in whose shining skin the sun was reflected, and who 
bore between his horns a golden disk, above which stood 
white ostrich-feathers; and then, divided from the bull 
only by a few fan-bearers, the god himself, sometimes visi- 
ble, but more often hidden from sight by great semicircu- 
lar screens of black and white ostrich-feathers, which were 
fixed on long poles, and with which the priests shaded the 
god. 

His mode of progress was as mysterious as his name, for 
he seemed to float slowly on his gorgeous throne from the 
temple gates toward the stream. His seat was placed on a 
platform magnificently decorated with bunches and gar- 
lands of flowers, and covered with hangings of purple and 
gold brocade, which concealed the priests who bore it along 
with a slow and even pace. 

As soon as the god had been placed on board his barge, 
Bent-Anat and her companions rose from their knees. 

Then came some priests, who carried a box with the 
sacred evergreen tree of Amon; and when a fresh outburst 
of music fell on her ear, and a cloud of incense was wafted 
up to her, Bent-Anat said: “Now my father should be 
coming. ” 

“And you,” cried Rameri, “and close behind Nefert’s 
husband, Mena, with the guards. Uncle Ani comes on 
foot. How strangely he has dressed himself like a sphinx 
hind-part before!” r 

“ How so?” asked Nefert. 

“A sphinx,” said Rameri, laughing, “has the body of 


* I have been guided in my description of the procession by the 
representation of the feast of the Steps at Medinet Abu. 


286 


UARDA . 


a lion, and the head of a man,* and my uncle has a peace- 
ful priest’s robe, and on his head the helmet of a warrior.” 

“If the king were here, the distributor of life,” said 
Nefert, “you would not be missing from among his sup- 
porters.” 

“ No indeed!” replied the prince, “ and the whole thing 
\ is altogether different when my father is here. His heroic 
form is splendid on his golden throne; . the statues of 
Truth and Justice spread their wings behind him as if to 
protect him; his mighty representative in fight, the lion, 
lies peacefully before him, and over him spreads the 
canopy with the Urseus snake at the top. There is hardly 
any end to the haruspices, the pastophori with the stand- 
ards, the images of the gods, and the flocks and herds for 
sacrifice. Only think, even from the north they would 
have sent representatives to the feast if my father had 
but been here. I know all the different signs on the 
standards.! Do you recognize the images of the king’s 
ancestors, Nefert? No? no more do I; but it seemed to 
me that Ahmes I, who expelled the Hyksos — from whom 
our grandmother was descended — headed the procession, 
and not my grandfather Seti, as he should have done. 
Here come the soldiers; they are the legions which Ani 
equipped, and who returned victorious from Ethiopia only 
last night. How the people cheeiMhem! and indeed they 
have behaved valiantly. Only think, Bent-Anat and 
Nefert, what it will be when my father comes home, with 
a hundred captive princes, who will humbly follow his 
chariot, which your Mena will drive, with our brothers and 
all the nobles of the land, and the guards in their splen- 
did chariots.” 

“ They do not think of returning yet!” sighed Nefert. 

While more and more troops of the regent’s soldiers, 


* There were no female sphinxes in Egypt. The sphinx was 
called Neb, i. e., the lord. The lion-couchant had either a man’s or 
a ram’s head. 

f Every Nomos or province of Egypt had its heraldic badge, which 
on solemn occasions was carried as a standard. There were complete 
lists of the forty-four provinces as early as the time of Seti I. Those 
of Philse, Edfu and Dendera give many interesting details, particu- 
larly as to the religious observances, in each Nomos. See Harris, 
Brugsch, Dumichen and J. de Rouge. 


UARDA. 


m 


more companies of musicians, and rare animals,* followed 
in procession, the festal bark of Amon started from the 
shore. 

It was a large and gorgeous barge of wood, polished all 
over and overlaid with gold, and its edge was decorated 
with glittering glass-beads, f which imitated rubies and em- 
eralds; the masts and yards were gilt, and purple sails 
floated from them. The seats for the priests were of ivory, 
and garlands of lilies and roses hung round the vessel, from 
its masts and ropes. 

The regent’s Nile-boat was not less splendid; the wood- 
work shone with gilding, the cabin was furnished with gay 
Babylonian carpets; a lion’s-head formed the prow, as 
formerly in Hatasu’s sea-going vessels, and two large rubies 
shone in it, for eyes. After the priests had embarked, 
and the sacred barge had reached the opposite shore, the 
people pressed into the boats, which, filled almost to sink- 
ing, soon so covered the whole breadth of the river that 
there was hardly a spot where the sun was mirrowed in the 
yellow waters. 

“Now I will put on the dress of a gardener,” cried 
Rameri, “and cross over with the wreaths.” 

“ You will leave us alone?” asked Bent-Anat. 

“ Do not make me anxious,” said Rameri. 

“ Go then,” said the princess. “ If my father were here 
how willingly I would go too.” 

“Come with me,” cried the boy. “We can easily find 
a disguise for you too.” 

“Folly!” said Bent-Anat; but she looked inquiringly at 
Nefert, who shrugged her shoulders, as much as to say: 
“ Your will is my law.” 

Rameri was too sharp for the glances of the friends to 
have escaped him, and he exclaimed, eagerly: 

“You will come with me, I see you will! Every beggar 
to-day flings his flower into the common grave, which 


* A great number of foreign beasts were introduced in a procession 
under Ptolemy Pkiladelplius, which is graphically described by 
Kallidenos, an eye-witness. The Lagides imitate a custom which, as 
we learn from the pictures in the tomb of Recli ma Ra, eighteenth 
dynasty, existed in very early times. 

f In many collections are imitations of precious stones which can 
hardly be excelled by modern workmanship. 


288 


UAIWA. 


contains the black mummy of his father — and shall the 
daughter of Rameses, and the wife of the chief charioteer, 
be excluded from bringing garlands to their dead?” 

“ I shall defile the tomb by my presence,” said Bent- 
Anat, coloring. 

“You — you!” exclaimed Rameri, throwing his arms 
round his sister’s neck, and kissing her. “ You, a noble 
generous creature, who live only to ease sorrow and to wipe 
away tears; you, the very image of my father — unclean! 
sooner would I believe that the swans down there are black 
as crows, and the rose-wreaths on the balcony rank hem- 
lock branches. Bek-en-Chunsu pronounced you clean, 
and if Ameni ” 

“Ameni .only exercises his rights,” said Bent-Anat, 
gently, “ and yon know what we have resolved. I will not 
hear one hard word about him to-day.” 

“ Very well! he has graciously and mercifully kept us 
from the feast,” said Rameri, ironically, and he bowed low 
in the direction of the Necropolis, “and you are unclean. 
Do not enter the tombs and the temples on my account; 
let us stay outside among the people. The roads .over 
there are not so very sensitive; paraschites and other un- 
clean folks pass over them every day. Be sensible, Bent- 
Anat, and come. We will disguise ourselves; I will con- 
duct you; I will lay the garlands in the tombs, we will 
pray together outside, we will see the sacred procession and 
the feats of the magicians, and hear the festive discourse. 
Only think! Pentaur, in spite of all they have said against 
him, is to deliver it. The temple of Seti \vants to do its 
best to-day, and Ameni knows very well v tliat Pentaur, 
when he opens his mouth, stirs the hearts of the people 
more than all the sages together if they were to sing in 
chorus! Come with me, sister.” 

“So be it then,” said Bent-Anat, with sudden decision. 

Rameri was surprised at this quick resolve, at which 
however he was delighted; but Nefert looked anxiously at 
her friend. In a moment her eyes fell; she knew now who 
it was that her friend loved, and the fearful thought — - 
“ How will it end?” flashed through her mind. 


UARDA. 


289 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

An - hour later, a tall, plainly-dressed woman crossed the 
Nile, with a dark-skinned boy and a slender youth by her 
side. The wrinkles on her brow and cheeks agreed little 
with her youthful features; but it would have been difficult 
to recognize in these three the proud princess, the fair 
young prince, and the graceful Nefert, who looked as 
charming as ever in the long white robe of a temple- 
student. 

They were followed by two faithful and sturdy head- 
servants from among the litter-bearers of the princess, who 
were however commanded to appear as though they were 
not in any way connected with their mistress and her com- 
panions. 

The passage across the Nile had been accomplished but 
slowly, and thus the royal personages had experienced for 
the first time some of the many difficulties and delays 
which ordinary mortals must conquer to attain objects 
which almost fly to meet their rulers. No one preceded 
them to clear the river, no other vessel made way for them; 
on the contrary, all tried to take place ahead of them, and 
to reach the opposite shore before them. 

When at last they reached the landing-place, the proces- 
sion had already passed on to the temple of Seti; Ameni had 
met it with his chorus of singers, and had received the god 
on the shore of the Nile; the prophets of the Necropolis 
had with their own hands placed him in the sacred Sam- 
bark * of the House of Seti, which was artistically con- 
structed of cedar-wood and electrum set with jewels; thirty 
pastophori took the precious burden on their shoulders, 
and bore it up the avenue of Sphinxes — which led from the 
river to the temple — into the sanctuary of Seti, where 
Amon remained while the emissaries from the different 
provinces deposited their offerings in the forecourt. On 
his road from the shore kolchytes had run before him, in 
accordance with an ancient custom, strewing sand in his 
path. 


* The sacred vessel of the god is so called in a picture still extant 
at Qurnah. 


290 


UARDA. 


In the course of an hour the procession once more 
emerged into the open air, and turning to the south, rested 
first in the enormous temple of Amenophis III, in front of 
which the two giant statues stood as sentmels — they still 
remain, the colossi of the Nile valley. Further to the 
south it reached the temple of Tliotmes the Great,* then 
turning round, it clung to the eastern face of the Libyan 
hills — pierced with tombs and catacombs; it mounted the 
terraces of the temple of Hatasu, and paused by the tombs 
of the oldest kings which are in the immediate neighbor- 
hood; thus by sunset it had reached the scene of the festi- 
val itself, at the entrance of the valley in which the tomb 
of Seti had been made, and in whose westernmost recesses 
were some of the graves of the Pharaohs of the deposed 
race. 

This part of the Necropolis was usually visited by lamp- 
light, and under the flare of torches, before the return of 
the god to his own temple and the mystery-play on the 
sacred lake, which did not begin till midnight. 

Behind the god in a vase of transparent crystal, and 
borne high on a pole that all the multitude might see it, 
was the heart of the sacred ram. 

Our friends, after they had laid their wreaths on the 
magnificent altars of their royal ancestors without being 
recognized, late in the afternoon joined the throng who 
followed the procession. They mounted the eastern cliff 
of the hills close by the tomb of Mena’s forefathers, which 
a prophet of Amon, named Neferhotep — Mena’s great- 
grandfather had constructed. Its narrow door- way was 
besieged by a crowd, for within the first of the rock- 
chambers of which it consisted, a harper was singing a 
dirge for the long-since buried prophet, his wife and his 
sister. The song had been composed by the poet attached 
to his house; it was graven in the stone of the second rock- 
room of the tomb, and Neferhotep had left a plot of 
ground in trust to the Necropolis, with the charge of ad- 
ministering its revenues for the payment of a minstrel, 


* The oldest portion of tlie temple of Medinet Abu. Lepsius and 
Rliind (Thebes, and its Temples) both give plans which make the 
path of procession easy to trace. Lepsius, “ Denkmaler aus 
Egypten,” is a splendid work in folio. 


UARDA. 


291 

who every year at the feast of the dead should sing the 
monody to the accompaniment of his lute.* 

The charioteer well knew this dirge, for his ancestor and 
he had often sung it to Nefert, who had accompanied him 
on her lute; for in their hours of joy also — nay especially — 
the Egyptians were wont to remember their dead. 

Now the three companions listened to the minstrel as 
he sang: 


Now the great man is at rest, 

Gone to practice sweeter duties. 

Those that die are the elect 
Since the gods have left the earth. 

Old men pass and young men come; 

Yea, a new sun rises daily 
When the old sun has found rest 
In the bosom of the night. 

Hail, O Prophet, on this feast day 
Odorous balsams, fragrant resins 
Here we bring — and offer garlands, 

Throwing flowers down before thee, 

And before thy much-loved sister, 

Who has found her rest beside thee. 

Songs we sing, and strike the lyre 
To thy 'memory, and thine honor. 

All our cares are now forgotten, 

Joy and hope our breasts are filling; 

For the day of our departure 
Now draws near, and in the silence 
Of the farther shore is rest. 

When the song ceased several people pressed into the 
little oratory to express their gratitude to the deceased 
prophet by laying a few flowers on his altar. Nefert and 
Rameri also went in, and when Nefert had offered a long 
and silent prayer to the glorified spirit of her dead, that 
they might watch over Mena, she laid her garland beside 
the grave in which her husband's mother rested. 

Many members of the court circle passed close to the 
royal party without recognizing them; they made every 
effort to reach the scene of the festival, but the crowd was 
so great that the ladies had several times to get into a 


* The tomb of Neferhotep is well preserved, and in it the inscrip- 
tion from which this monody is translated. 


292 


UARDA. 


tomb to avoid it. In each they found the altar loaded 
with offerings, and, in most family-parties, who here re- 
membered their dead with meat and fruits, beer and wine, 
as though they were departed travelers who had found 
some far-off rest, and whom they hoped sooner or later to 
see again. 

The sun was near setting when at last the princess and 
her companions reached the spot where the feast was being 
held. Here stood numbers of stalls and booths, with eat- 
ables of every sort, particularly sweet cakes for the chil- 
dren, dates, figs, pomegranates and other fruits. Under 
light awnings, which kept off the sun, were sold sandals 
and kerchiefs of every material and hue, ornaments, amu- 
lets, fans and sun-shades, sweet essences of every kind, and 
other gifts for offerings or for the toilet. The baskets of 
the gardeners and flower-girls were already empty, but the 
money-changers were full of business, and the tavern and 
gambling booths were driving a brisk trade. 

Friends and acquaintances greeted each other kindly, 
while the children showed each other their new sandals, 
the cakes they had won at the games, or the little copper 
rings they had had given to them, and which must now be 
laid out. The largest crowd was gathered to see the ma- 
gicians from the House of Seti, round which the mob 
squatted on the ground in a compact circle, and the chil- 
dren were good-naturedly placed in the front row. 

When Bent-Anat reached the place all the religious sol- 
emnity was ended. 

There stood the canopy under which the king and his 
family were used to listen to the festal discourse, and under 
its shade sat to-day the Regent Ani. They could see, too, 
the seats of the grandees, &nd the barriers which kept the* 
people at a distance from the regent, the priests, and the 
nobles. 

Here Ameni himself had announced to the multitude 
the miracle of the sacred heart, and had proclaimed that a 
new Apis had been found among the herds of the Regent 
Ani. 

His announcement of these divine tokens had been re- 
peated from mouth to mouth; they were omens of peace 
and happiness for the country through the means of a 
favorite of the gods; and though no one said it, the dullest 


VARDA. 


m 


could not fail to see that this favorite was none other than 
Ani, the descendant of the great Hatasu, whose prophet 
had been graced by the transfer to him of the heart of the 
sacred ram. All eyes were fixed on Ani, who had sacri- 
ficed before all the people to the sacred heart and received 
the high-priest's blessing. 

Pentaur, too, had ended his discourse when Bent-Anat 
reached the scene of the festival. She heard an old man 
say to his son: 

“ Life is hard. It often seems to me like a heavy burden 
laid on our poor backs by the cruel gods; but when I heard 
the young priest from the House of Seti I felt that, after 
all, the immortals are good, and we have much to thank 
them for." 

In another place a priest's wife said to her son: 

“ Could you see Pentaur well, Hor-Uza? He is of 
humble birth, but he stands above the greatest in genius 
and gifts, and will rise to high things."’ 

Two girls were speaking together, and one said to the 
other: 

“ The speaker is the handsomest man I ever saw, and 
his voice sounds like soft music." 

“ And how his eyes shone when he spoke of truth as the 
highest of all virtues!" replied the other. “ All the gods, 
I believe, must dwell in him." 

Bent-Anat colored as these words fell on her ear. It 
was growing dark, and she wished to return home; but 
Rameri wished to follow the procession as it marched 
through the western valley by torch-light, so that the 
grave of his grandfather Seti should also be visited. The 
princess unwillingly yielded, but it would in any case have 
been difficult to reach the river while every one was rush- 
ing in the opposite direction; so the two ladies, and 
Rameri, let themselves be carried along by the crowd, and 
by the time the daylight wad gone, they found themselves 
in the western valley, where to-night no beast of prey dared 
show themselves; jackals and hyenas had fled before the 
glare of the torches, and the lanterns made of colored 
papyrus. 

.The smoke of the torches mingled with the dust stirred 
by a thousand feet, and the procession moved along, as 
it were, in a cloud, which also shrouded the multitude that 
followed. 


294 


tfAtiDA. 


The three companions had labored on as far as the hovel 
of the paraschites Pinein, but here they were forced to 
pause, for guards drove back the crowd to the right and 
left with long staves, to clear a passage for the procession 
as it approached. 

“See, Rameri,” said Bent-Anat, pointing out the little 
yard of the hut which stood only a few paces from them. 
“That is where the fair white girl lives, whom I ran over. 
But she is much better. Turn round; there, behind the 
thorn-hedge, by the little fire which shines full in your 
face — there she sits with her grandfather.” 

The prince stood on tiptoe, looked into the humble plot 
of ground, and then said in a subdued voice: 

“ What a lovely creature! But what is she doing with 
that old man? He seems to be praying, and she first holds 
a handkerchief before his mouth, and then rubs his temples. 
And how unhappy she looks!” 

“The paraschites must be ill,” replied Bent-Anat. 

“ He must have had too much wine down at the feast,” 
said Rameri, laughing. “ No doubt of it! Only look how 
his lips tremble, and his eyes roll. It is hideous — he looks 
like one possessed.”* 

“ He is unclean too!” said Nefert. 

“ But he is a good, kind man, with a tender heart,” 
exclaimed the princess, eagerly. “I have inquired about 
him. He is honest and sober, and I am sure he is ill and 
not drunk.” 

“Now she is standing up,” said Rameri, and he dropped 
the paper-lantern which he had bought at a booth. “ Step 
back, Bent-Anat, she must be expecting some one. Did 
you ever see any one so very fair, and with such a pretty 
little head. Even her red hair becomes her wonderfully; 
but she staggers as she stands — she must be very weak. 
Now she has sat down again by the old man, and is rubbing 
his forehead. Poor souls! look how she is sobbing. I will 
throw my purse over to them.” 

“ No, no!” exclaimed Bent-Anat. “ I gave them plenty 


* It was thought that the insane were possessed by demons. A 
stele admirably treated by E. de Rouge exists at Paris, which relates 
that the sister-in-law of Ramesis XII, who was possessed by devils, 
had them driven out by the statue of Chunsu, which was sent to 
her in Asia. 


UAUbA. 


295 


of money, and the tears which they shed there cannot he 
stanched with gold. I will send old Asnath over to-mor- 
row to ask how we can help them. Look, here comes the 
procession, Nefert. How rudely the people press! As 
soon as the god is gone by we will go home." 

“ Pray do," said Nefert. “ I am so frightened!" and 
she pressed trembling to the side of the princess. 

“ I wish we were at home, too," replied Bent-Anat. 

“Only look!" said Kameri. “There they are. Is it 
not splendid? And how the heart shines as if it were a 
star!" 

All the crowd, and with them our three friends, fell on 
their knees. 

The procession paused opposite to them, as it did at 
every thousand paces; a herald came forward, and glori- 
fied, in a loud voice, the great miracle, to which now 
another was added — the sacred heart since the night had 
come on had begun to give out light. 

Since his return home from the embalming house, the 
paraschites had takeu no nourishment, and had not 
answered a word to the anxious questions of the two 
frightened women. He stared blindly, muttered a few 
unintelligible words, and often clasped his forehead in his 
hand. A few hours before he had laughed loud and sud- 
denly, and his wife, greatly alarmed, had gone at once to 
fetch the physician Nebsecht. 

During her absence Uarda was to rub her grandfather's 
temples with the leaves which the witch Hekt had laid on 
her bruises, for as they had once proved efficacious they 
might perhaps a second time scare away the demon of 
sickness. 

When the procession, with its thousand lamps and 
torches, paused before the hovel, which was almost invisi- 
ble in the dusk, and one citizen said to another: “Here 
comes the sacred heart!" the old man started, and stood 
up. His eyes stared fixedly at the gleaming relic in its 
crystal case; slowly, trembling in every lirfib* and with 
outstretched neck he stood up. 

The herald began his eulogy of the miracle. 

Then, while all the people were prostrate in adoration, 
listening motionless to the loud voice of the speaker, the 


296 


tTAUDA. 


paraschites rushed out of his gate, striking his forehead 
with his fists, and opposite the sacred heart he broke out 
into a mad, loud fit of scornful laughter, which re-echoed 
from the bare cliffs that closed in the valley. 

Horror fell on the crowd, who rose timidly from their 
knees. 

Ameni, who was close behind the heart, started too, and 
looked round on the author of this hideous laugh. He 
had never seen the paraschites, but he perceived the glim- 
mer of his little fire through the dust and gloom, and he 
knew that he lived in this place. The whole case struck 
him at once; he whispered a few significant words to one 
of the officers who marched with the troops on each side 
of the procession; then he gave the signal, and the pro- 
cession moved on as if nothing had happened. 

The old man tried with still more loud and crazy 
laughter to reach and seize the heart, but the crowd kept 
him back; and while the last groups passed on after the 
priests, he contrived to slip back as far as the door of his 
hovel, though much damaged and hurt. There he fell, 
and TJarda rushed out and threw herself over the old man, 
who lay on the earth, scarcely recognizable in the dust and 
darkness. 

“ Crush the scoffer!” 

“Tear him in pieces!” 

“Burn down the foul den!” 

“Throw him and the wench into the fire!” shouted the 
people, who had been disturbed in their devotions, with 
wild fury. 

Two old women snatched the lanterns from the posts, 
and flung them at the unfortunate creatures, while an 
Ethiopian soldier seized TJarda by the hair, and tore her 
away from her grandfather. 

At this moment Pinem’s wife appeared, and with her 
Pentaur. She had found not Nebsecht, but Pentaur, who 
had returned to the temple after his speech. She had told 
him of the demon who had fallen upon her husband, and 
implored him to come with her. Pentaur immediately 
followed her in his working dress, just as he was, without 
putting on the white priest’s robe, which he did not wish 
to wear on this expedition. 

When they drew near to the paraschites’ hovel, he per : 


UARDA . 


297 


ceived the tumult among the people, and, loud above all 
the noise, heard Uarda's shrill cry of terror. He hurried 
forward, and in the dull light of the scattered fire-brands 
and colored lanterns, he saw the black hand of the soldier 
clutching the hair of the helpless child; quick as thought 
he gripped the soldier's throat with his iron fingers, seized 
him round the body, swung him in the air, and flung him 
like a block of stone right into the little yard of the hut. 

The people threw themselves on the champion in a 
frenzy of rage, but he felta sudden warlike impulse surging 
up. in him, which he had never felt before. With one 
wrench he pulled out the heavy wooden pole which sup- 
ported the awning which the old paraschites had put up 
for his sick grandchild; he swung it round his head, as if it 
were a reed, driving back the crowd, while he called to 
Uarda to keep close to him. 

“He who touches the child is a dead man!" he cried. 
“Shame on you! — falling on a' feeble old man and a help- 
less child in the middle of a holy festival!" 

For a moment the crowd was silent, but immediately 
after rushed forward with fresh impetus, and wilder than 
ever rose the shouts of: 

“Tear him to pieces! burn his house down!" 

A few artisans from Thebes closed round the poet, who 
was not recognizable as a priest. He, however, wielding 
his tent-pole, felled them before they could reach him with 
their fists or cudgels, and down went every man on whom 
it fell. But the struggle could not last long, for some of 
his assailants sprang over the fence, and attacked him in the 
rear. And now Pentaur was distinctly visible against a 
background of flaring light, for some fire-brands had fallen 
on the dry palm-thatch of the hovel behind him, and roar- 
ing flames rose up to the dark heavens. 

The poet heard the threatening blaze behind him. He 
put his left hand round the head of the trembling girl, who 
crouched beside him, and feeling that now they both were 
lost, but that to his latest breath he must protect the in- 
nocence and life of this frail creature, with his right hand 
he once more desperately swung the heavy stake, 

But it was for the last time; for two men succeeded 
in clutching the weapon, others came to their support, 
and wrenched it from his hand, while the mob closed upon 


298 


UARDA. 


him, furious but unarmed, and not without great fear of 
the enormous strength of their opponent. 

Uarda clung to her protector with shortened breath, and 
trembling like a hunted antelope. Pentaur groaned when 
he felt himself disarmed, but at that instant a youth stood 
by his side, as if he had sprung from the earth, who put 
into his hand the sword of the fallen soldier — who lay near 
his feet — and who then, leaning his back against Pentaur’s, 
faced the foe on the other side. Pentaur pulled himself 
together, sent out a battle-cry like some fighting hero who 
is defending his last stronghold, and brandished his new 
weapon. He stood with flaming eyes, like a lion at bay, 
and for a moment the enemy gave way, for his young ally, 
Rameri, had taken a hatchet, and held it up in a threaten- 
ing manner. 

“ The cowardly murderers are flinging fire-brands,” 
cried the prince. “Come here, girl, and I will put out 
the pitch on your dress.” 

He seized Uarda’s hand, drew her to him, and hastily 
put out the flame, while Pentaur protected them with his 
sword. 

The prince and the poet stood thus back to back for a 
few moments, when a stone struck Pentaur’s head; he 
staggered, and the crowd were rushing upon him, when 
the little fence was torn away by a determined hand, a 
tall womanly form appeared on the scene of combat, and 
cried to the astonished mob: 

“Have done with this! I command you! I am Bent- 
Anat, the daughter of Rameses.” 

The angry crowd gave way in sheer astonishment. 

Pentaur had recovered from the stunning blow, but he 
thought he must be under some illusion. He felt as if he 
must throw himself on his knees before Bent-Anat, but his 
mind had been trained under Ameni to rapid reflection; 
he realized, in a flash of thought, the princess’ position, 
and instead of bowing before her he exclaimed: 

“ Whoever this woman may be, good folks, she is not 
Bent-Anat the princess; but I, though I have no white 
robe on, am a priest of Seti, named Pentaur, and the 
Cherheb of to-day’s festival. Leave this spot, woman, I 
command yon, in right of my sacred office.” 

And Bent-Anat obeyed. 


UARDA . 


299 


Pentaur was saved; for just as the people began to re- 
cover from their astonishment — just as those whom he had 
hurt were once more inciting the mob to fight — just as a 
boy, whose hand he had crushed, was crying out: “ He is 
not a priest, he is a swordsman. Down with the liar!” 

A voice from the crowd exclaimed: 

“ Make way for my white robe, and leave the preacher 
Pentaur alone, he is my friend. You most of you know 
me.” 

“ You are Nebsecht the leech, who set my broken leg,” 
cried a sailor. 

“ And cured my bad eye,” said a weaver. 

“That tall handsome man is Pentaur, I know him well,” 
cried the girl, whose opinion had been overheard by Bent- 
Anat. 

.“ Preacher this, preacher that!” shouted the boy, and he 
would have rushed forward, but the people held him back, 
and divided respectfully at Nebsecht’s command to make 
way for him to get at those who had been hurt. 

First he -stooped over the old paraschites. 

“ Shame upon you!” he exclaimed. “You have killed 
the old man.” 

“And I,” said Pentaur, “have dipped my peaceful hand 
in blood to save his innocent and suffering grandchild from 
a like fate.” 

“Scorpions, vipers, venomous reptiles, scum of men!” 
shrieked Nebsecht, and he sprang wildly forward, seeking 
Uarda. When he saw her sitting safe at the feet of old 
Hekt, who had made her way into the court-yard, he drew 
a deep breath of relief, and turned his attention to the 
wounded. 

“Did you knock down all that are lying here?” he whis- 
pered to his friend. 

Pentaur nodded assent and smiled; but not in triumph, 
rather in shame ; like a boy who has unintentionally 
squeezed to death in his hand a bird he has caught. 

Nebsecht looked round astonished and anxious. 

“ Why did you not say who you were?” he asked. 

“ Because the spirit of the God Menth possessed me,” 
answered Pentaur. “ When I saw that accursed villain 
there wifh his hand in the girl's hair, I heard and saw 
nothing, I ” 


300 


UABDA. 


“ You did right/' interrupted Nebsecht. “ But where 
will all this end?" 

At this moment a flourish of trumpets rang through the 
little valley. The officer sent by Ameni to apprehend the 
paraschites came up with his soldiers. 

Before he entered the court-yard he ordered the crowd 
to disperse; the refractory were driven away by force, and 
in a few minutes the valley was cleared of the howling and 
shouting mob, and the burning house was surrounded by 
soldiers. Bent-Anat, Kameri and Nefert were obliged to 
quit their places by the fence; Kameri, so soon as he saw 
that Uarda was safe, had rejoined his sister. 

Nefert was almost fainting with fear and excitement. 
The two servants, who had kept near them, knit their 
hands together, and thus carried her in advance of the 
princess. Not one Of them spoke a word, not even Kameri, 
who could not forget Uarda, and the look of gratitude she 
had sent after him. Once only Bent-Anat said: 

“ The hovel is burnt down. Where will the poor souls 
sleep to-night?" 

When the valley was clear, the officer entered the 
yard, and found there, besides Uarda and the witch Hekt, 
the poet and Nebsecht, who was engaged in tending the 
wounded. 

Pentaur shortly narrated the affair to the captain, and 
named himself to him. 

The soldier offered him his hand. 

“ If there were many men in Raineses' army," said he, 
“ who could strike such a blow as you, the war with the Cheta 
would soon be at an end. But you have struck down, not 
Asiatics, but citizens of Thebes, and, much as I regret it, 
I must take you as a prisoner to Ameni." 

“You only do your duty," replied Pentaur, bowing to 
the captain, who ordered his men to take up the body of 
the paraschites, and to bear it to the temple of Seti. 

“ I ought to take the girl in charge too," he added, 
turning to Pentaur. 

“ She is ill," replied the poet. 

“ And if she does not get some rest," added Nebsecht, 
“ she will be dead. Leave her alone; she is under the 
particular protection of the Princess Bent-Anat, who ran 
over her not long ago." 


UARDA. 


301 


“I will take her into my house,” said Hekt, “and will 
take care of her. Her grandmother is lying there; she 
was half-choked by the flames, but she will soon come to 
herself — and I have room for both.” 

“Till to-morrow,” replied the surgeon. “Then I will 
provide another shelter for her.” 

The old woman laughed and muttered : “ There are 
plenty of folks to take care of her, it seems.” 

The soldiers obeyed the command of their leader, took 
up the wounded, and went away with Pentaur, and the 
body of Pinem. 

Meanwhile, Bent-Anat and her party had with much 
difficulty reached the river bank. One of the bearers was 
sent to find the boat which was waiting for them, and he 
was enjoined to make haste, for already they could see the 
approach of the procession, which escorted the god on his 
return journey. If they could not succeed in finding their 
boat without delay they must wait at least an hour, for, at 
night, not a boat that did not belong to the train of Araon 
— not even the barge of a noble— might venture from shore 
till the whole procession was safe across. 

They awaited the messenger's signal in the greatest anx- 
iety, for Nefert was perfectly exhausted, and Bent-Anat, 
on whom she leaned, felt her trembling in every limb. 

At last the bearer gave the signal; the swift, almost in- 
visible bark, which was generally used for wild-fowl shoot- 
ing, shot by. Rameri seized one end of an oar that the 
rower held out to him, and drew the little boat up to the 
landing-place.' 

The captain of the watch passed at the same moment, 
and shouted out, “This is the last boat that can put off 
before the passage of the god!” 

Bent-Anat descended the steps as quickly as Nefert's 
exhausted state permitted. The landing-place was now 
only dimly lighted by dull lanterns, though, when the 
god embarked, it would be as light as day with cressets 
and torches. Before she could reach the bottom step, 
with Nefert still clinging heavily to her arm, a hard hand 
was laid on her shoulder, and the rough voice of Paaker 
exclaimed: 

“ Stand back, you rabble! We are going first.” 


302 


VARDA. 


The captain of the watch did not stop him, for he knew 
the chief pioneer and his overbearing ways. Paaker put 
his finger to his lips and gave a shrill whistle that sounded 
like a yell in the silence. 

The stroke of oars responded to the call, and Paaker 
called out to his boatmen: 

“ Bring the boat up here! these people can wait!” 

The pioneer's boat was larger and better manned than 
that of the princess. 

“ Jump into the boat!” cried Rameri. 

Bent-Anat went forward without speaking, for she did 
not wish to make herself known again for the sake of the 
people, and for Nefert's; but Paaker put himself in her 
way. 

“ Did I not tell you that you common people must wait 
till we are gone. Push these people's boat out into the 
stream, you men.” 

Bent-Anat felt her blood chill, for a loud squabble at 
once began on the landing-steps. 

Rameri's voice sounded louder than all the rest; but the 
pioneer exclaimed: 

“ The low brutes dare to resist ? I will teach them 
manners! Here, Descher, look after the women and these 
boys!” 

At his call his great red hound barked and sprang for- 
ward, which, as it had belonged to his father, always ac- 
companied him when he went with his mother to visit the 
ancestral tomb. Hefert shrieked with fright, but the dog 
at once knew her, and crouched against her with whines 
of recognition. 

Paaker, who had gone down to his boat, turned round 
in astonishment, and saw his dog fawning at the feet of a 
boy whom he could not possibly recognize as Nefert; he 
sprang back, and cried out: 

“1 will teach you, you young scoundrel, to spoil my dog 
with spells — or poison!” 

He raised his whip, and struck it across the shoulders 
of Nefert, who, with one scream of terror and anguish, fell 
to the ground. 

The lash of the whip only whistled close by the cheek of 
the poor fainting woman, for Bent-Anat had seized Paaker’s 
arm with all her might, 


UARDA. 


303 


Rage, disgust and scorn stopped her utterance ; but 
Rameri had heard Nefert's shriek, and in two steps stood 
by the women. 

“ Cowardly scoundrel !" he cried, and lifted the oar in 
his hand. Paaker evaded the blow, and called to the dog 
with a peculiar hiss: 

“ Pull him down, Descher." 

The hound flew at the prince; but Rameri, who, from 
his childhood, had been his father's companion in many 
hunts and field-sports, gave the furious brute such a 
mighty blow on the muzzle that he rolled over with a 
snort. 

Paaker believed that he possessed in the whole world no 
more faithful friend than this dog, his companion on all 
his marches across desert tracts or through the enemy's 
country, and when he saw him lie writhing on the ground 
his rage knew no bounds, and he flew at the youngster 
with his whip ; but Rameri — madly excited by all the 
events of the night, full of the warlike spirit of his fathers, 
worked up to the highest pitch by the insults to the two 
ladies, and seeing that he was their only protector — sud- 
denly felt himself endowed with the strength of a man; he 
dealt the pioneer such a heavy blow on the left hand, that 
he dropped his whip, and now seized the dagger in his 
girdle with his right. 

Bent-Anat threw herself between the man and the strip- 
ling, who was hardly more than a boy, once more declared 
her name, and this time her brother's also, and commanded 
Paaker to make peace among the boatmen. Then she led 
Nefert, who remained unrecognized, into the boat, entered 
it herself with her companions, and shortly after landed at 
the palace, while Paaker's mother, for whom he had called 
his boat, had yet a long time to wait before it could start. 
Setchem had seen the struggle from her litter at the top 
of the landing steps, but without understanding its origin, 
and without recognizing the chief actors. 

The dog was dead. Paaker's hand was very painful, and 
fresh rage was seething in his soul. 

“That brood of Raineses!’' he muttered. “Adventur- 
ers! They shall learn to know me. Mena and Rameses 
are closely connected — I will sacrifice them both." 


304 


UARDA. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

At last the pioneer’s boat got off with his mother and the 
body of the dog, which he intended to send to be embalmed 
at Kynopolis,* the city in which the dog was held sacred 
above all animals; Paaker himself returned to the House 
of Seti, where, in the night which closed the feast day, 
there was always a grand banquet for the superior priests 
of the Necropolis and of the temples of eastern Thebes, for 
the representatives of other foundations, and for select dig- 
nitaries of the state. 

His father had never failed to attend this entertainment 
when he was in Thebes, but he himself had to-day for the 
first time received the much-coveted honor of an invitation, 
which — Ameni told him when he gave it — he entirely 
owed to the regent. 

His mother had tied up his hand, which Rameri had 
severely hurt; it was extremely painful, but he would not 
have missed the banquet at any cost, although he felt some 
alarm of the solemn ceremony. His family was as old as 
any in Egypt, his blood purer than the king’s, and never- 
theless he never felt thoroughly at home in the company 
of superior people. He was no priest, although a scribe; 
he was a warrior, and yet he did not rank with royal 
heroes. 

He had been brought up to a strict fulfillment of his 
duty, and he devoted himself zealously to his calling; but 
his habits of life were widely different from those of the 
society in which he had been brought up — a society of 
which his handsome, brave, and magnanimous father had 
been a chief ornament. He did not cling covetously to his 
inherited wealth, and the noble attribute of liberality was 
not strange to him, but the coarseness of his nature 


* Kynopolis, or in old Egyptian Saka, is now Samalut; Anubis was 
tlie chief divinity worshiped there. Plutarch relates a quarrel 
between the inhabitants of this city, and the neighboring one of 
Oxyrynchos, where the fish called Oxyrynchos was worshiped. It 
began because the Kynopolitans eat the fish, and in revenge the 
Oxyrynchites caught and killed dogs, and consumed them in sacri- 
fices. Juvenal relates a similar story of the Ombites — perhaps 
Koptites — and Tentyrites in the fifteenth Satire. 


UARDA. 


305 


showed itself most when he was most lavish, for he was 
never tired of exacting gratitude from those whom he had 
attached to him by his gifts, and he thought he had. 
earned the right by his liberality to meet the recipient 
with roughness or arrogance, according to his humor. 
Thus it happened that his best actions procured him not 
friends but enemies. 

PaakeEs was, in fact, an ignoble, that is to say, a selfish 
nature; to shorten his road he trod down flowers as readily 
as he marched over the sand of the desert. This charac- 
teristic marked him in all things, even in his outward de- 
meanor; in the sound of his voice, in his broad features, in 
the swaggering gait of his stumpy figure. 

In camp he could conduct himself as he pleased, but this 
was not permissible in the society of his equals in 
rank; for this reason, and because those faculties of quick 
remark and repartee, which distinguished them,Jjad been 
denied to him, he felt uneasy and out of his element when 
he mixed with them, and he would hardly have accepted 
Ameni’s invitation, if it had not so greatly flattered his 
vanity. 

It was already lata; but the banquet did not begin till 
midnight, for the guests, before it began, assisted at the 
play which was performed by lamp and torch-light on the 
sacred lake in the south of the Necropolis, and which 
represented the history of Isis and Osiris. 

When he entered the decorated hall in which the tables 
were prepared, he found all the guests assembled. The 
Regent Ani was present, and sat on AmenPs right at the 
top of the center high-table at which several places were 
unoccupied; for the prophets and the initiated of the temple 
of Am on had excused themselves from being present. 
They were faithful to Rameses and his house; their gray- 
haired superior disapproved of Ameni’s severity toward the 
prince and princess, and they regarded the miracle of the 
sacred heart as a malicious trick of the chiefs of the 
Necropolis against the great temple of the capital, for 
which Rameses had always shown a preference. 

The pioneer went up to the table where sat the general 
of the troops that had just returned victorious from 
Ethiopia, and several other officers of high rank. There 
was a place vacant next to the general. Paaker fixed his 


306 


UARDA. 


eyes upon this, but when he observed that the officer 
signed the one next to him to come a little nearer, the 
pioneer imagined that each would endeavor to avoid having 
him for his neighbor, and with an angry glance he turned 
his back on the table where the warriors sat. 

The Mohar was not, in fact, a welcome boon-companion. 
“ The wine turns sour when that churl looks at it,” said 
the general. 

The eyes of all the guests turned on Paaker, who looked 
round for a seat, and when no one beckoned him to one he 
felt his blood begin to boil. He would have liked to leave 
the banqueting-hall at once with a swingeing curse. He 
had indeed turned toward the door, when the regent, who 
had exchanged a few whispered words with Ameni, called 
to him, requested him to take the place that had been re- 
served for him, and pointed to the seat by his side, which 
had in fact been intended for the high-priest of the temple 
of Am on. 

Paaker bowed low, and took the place of honor, hardly 
daring to look round the table, lest he should encounter 
looks of surprise or of mockery. And yet he had pictured 
to himself his grandfather Assa, and his father, as some- 
where near this place of honor, which had actually often 
enough been given up to them. And was he not their de- 
scendant and heir? Was not his mother Setchem of royal 
race? Was not the temple of Seti more indebted to him 
than to any one? 

A servant laid a garland of flowers round his shoulders, 
and another handed him wine and food. Then he raised 
his eyes, and met the bright and sparkling 'glance of 
Gagabu; he looked quickly down again at the table. 

Then the regent spoke to him, and turning to the other 
guests mentioned that Paaker was on the point of 
starting next day for Syria, and resuming his arduous 
labors as Mohar. It seemed to Paaker that the regent was 
excusing himself for having given him so high a place of 
honor. 

Presently Ani raised his wine-cup and drank to the 
happy issue of his reconnoitering expedition, and a victori- 
ous conclusion to every struggle in which the Mohar might 
engage. The high-priest then pledged him, and thanked 
him emphatically in the name of the brethren of the tern- 


UARDA . 


307 

pie, for the noble tract of arable land which he had that 
morning given them as a votive offering. A murmur of 
approbation ran round the tables, and Paaker’s timidity 
began to diminish. 

He had kept the wrappings that his mother had applied 
round his still-aching hand. 

“ Are you wounded?” asked the regent. 

44 Nothing of importance,” answered the pioneer. 44 I 
was helping my mother into the boat, and it happened ” 

“ It happened,” interrupted an old school-fellow of the 
Mohar’s, who himself held a high appointment as officer of 
the city watch of Thebes, 44 it happened that an oar or a 
stake fell on his fingers.” 

4 4 Is it possible!” cried the regent. 

44 And quite a youngster laid hands on him,” continued 
the officer. 44 My people told me every detail. First the 
boy killed his dog ” 

4 . 4 That noble Descher?” asked the master of the hunt, in 
a tone of regret. 44 Your father was often by my side with 
that dog at a boar-hunt.” 

Paaker bowed his head; but the officer of the watch, 
secure in his position and dignity, and taking no notice of 
the glow of anger which flushed PaakeFs face, began again: 

44 When the hound lay on the ground, the foolhardy boy 
struck your dagger out of your hand.” 

44 And did this squabble lead to any disturbance?” asked 
Ameni, earnestly. 

44 No,” replied the officer. 44 The feast has passed off 
to-day with unusual quiet. If the unlucky interruption to 
the procession by that crazy paraschites had not occurred 
we should have nothing but praise for the populace. Be- 
sides the fighting priest, whom we have handed over to 
you, only a few thieves have been apprehended, and they 
belong exclusively to the caste,* so we simply take their 


* According to Diodorus (I. 80) there was a caste of thieves in 
Thebes. All citizens were obliged to enter their names in a register, 
and state where they lived, and the thieves did the same. The 
names were enrolled by the “chief of the thieves,” and all stolen 
goods had to be given up to him. The person robbed had to give a 
written description of the object he had lost, and a declaration as to 
when and where he had lost it. The stolen property was thus easily 
recovered, and restored to the owner on the payment of one-fourth 
of its value, which was given to the thief. A similar state of things 
existed at Cairo within a comparatively short time. 


308 


UARDA. 


booty from them and let them go. But say, Paaker, what 
devil of amiability took possession of you down by the river, 
that you let the rascal escape unpunished.” 

“Did you do that?” exclaimed Gagabu. “Revenge is 
usually your ” 

Ameni threw so warning a glance at the old man that he 
suddenly broke off, and then asked the pioneer: 

“How did the struggle begin, and who was the fellow?” 

“ Some insolent people,” said Paaker, “wanted to push 
in front of the boat that was waiting for my mother, and I 
asserted my rights. The rascal fell upon me and killed 
my dog and — by my Osirian father! — the crocodiles would 
long since have eaten him if a woman had not come be- 
tween us, and made herself known to me as Bent-Anat, the 
daughter of Rameses. It was she herself, and the rascal 
was the young Prince Rameri, who was yesterday forbidden 
this temple.” 

“ Oho!” cried the old master of the hunt. “Oho! my 
lord! Is this the way to speak of the children of the king?” 

Others of the company who were attached to Pharaoh's 
family expressed their indignation; but Ameni whispered 
to Paaker — “ Say no more!” then he continued aloud: 

“You never were careful in weighing your words, my 
friend, and now, as it seems to me, you are speaking in the 
heat of fever. Come here, Gagabu, and examine Paaker's 
wound, which is no disgrace to him — for it was inflicted by 
a prince.” 

The old man loosened the bandage from the pioneer's 
swollen hand. 

“That was a bad blow,” he exclaimed; “ three fingers 
are broken, and — do you see? — the emerald too in your 
signet ring.” 

Paaker looked down at his aching fingers, and sighed 
deeply, for not only the oracular ring with the name of 
Thotmes III, but the valuable ring given to his father by 
the reigning king, had been crushed. Ouly a few solitary 
fragments of the splintered stone remained in the setting; 
the king's name had fallen to pieces and disappeared. 
Paaker's bloodless lips moved silently, and an inner voice 
cried out to him: “The gods point out the way! The 
name is gone, the bearer of the name must follow.” 

“It is a pity about the ring,” said Gagabu. “And if 


UAUDA. 


309 


the hand must follow — fortunately it is your left hand. x 
Now, leave off drinking, let yourself be taken to Nebsecht, 
the surgeon, and get him to set the joints neatly, and 
bind them up.” 

Paaker rose and went away after Ameni had appointed 
to meet him on the following day at the temple of Seti, 
and the regent at the palace. 

When the door had closed behind him, the treasurer of 
the temple said: 

“ This has been a bad day for the Mohar, and perhaps 
it will teach him that here in Thebes he cannot swagger as 
he does in the field. Another adventure occurred to him 
to-day; would you like to hear it?” 

“ Yes; tell it!” cried the guests. 

“ You all knew old Seni,” began the treasurer. “He 
was a rich man, but he gave away all his goods to the 
poor, after his seven blooming sons, one after another, 
had died in the war, or of illness. He only kept a 
small house with a little garden, and said that as the 
gods had taken his children to themselves in the other 
world he would take pity on the forlorn in this. ‘ Feed the 
hungry, give drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked/ says 
the law; and now that Seni has nothing more to give away, 
he goes through the city, as you know, hungry and thirsty 
himself, and scarcely clothed, and begging for his adopted 
children, the poor. We have all given to him, for we all 
know for whom he humbles himself, and holds out his 
hand. To-day he went round with his little bag, and begged, 
with his kind good eyes, for alms. Paaker has given us a 
good piece of arable land, and thinks, perhaps with reason, 
he has done his part. When Seni addressed him, he told 
him to go; but the old man did not give up asking him; 
he followed him persistently to the grave of his father, and 
a great many people with him. Then the pioneer pushed 
him angrily back, and when at last the beggar clutched his 
garment, he raised his whip, and struck him two or three 
times, crying out: ‘ There — that is your portion!" The 
good old man bore it quite patiently, while he untied the 
bag, and said with tears in his eyes: ‘ My portion — yes — 
but not the portion of the poor!” 

“I was standing near, and I saw how Paaker hastily 
withdrew into the tomb, and how his mother Setchem 


310 


UAHDA. 


threw her full purse to Seni. Others followed her example, 
and the old man never had a richer harvest. The poor 
may thank the Mohar! A crowd of people collected in 
front of the tomb, and he would have fared badly if it 
had not been for the police guard who drove them 
away.” 

During this narrative, which was heard with much 
approval — for no one is more secure of his result than he 
who can tell of the downfall of a man who is disliked for 
his arrogance — the regent and the high -priest had been 
eagerly whispering to each other. 

“ There can be no doubt,” said Ameni, “that Bent- 
Anat did actually come to the festival.” 

“ And had also dealings with the priest whom you so 
warmly defend,” whispered the other. 

“Pentaur shall be questioned this very night,” returned 
the high-priest. “ The dishes will soon be taken away, 
and the drinking will begin. Let us go and hear what the 
poet says.” 

“ But there are now no witnesses,” replied Ani. 

“ We do not need them,” said Ameni. “ He is incapable 
of a lie.” 

“Let us go then,” said the regent, smiling, “for I am 
really curious about this white negro, and how he will come 
to terms with the truth. You have forgotten that there is 
a woman in the case.” 

“That there always is!” answered Ameni; he called 
Gagabu to him, gave him his seat, begged him to keep up 
the flow of cheerful conversation, to encourage the guests 
to drink, and to interrupt all talk of the king, the state, 
the war. 

“ You know,” he concluded, “that we are not by our- 
selves this evening. Wine has, before this, betrayed every- 
thing! Remember this — the mother of foresight looks 
backward !” 

Ani clapped his hand on the old man’s shoulder. 

“ There will be a space cleared to-night in your wine- 
lofts. It is said of you that you cannot bear to see either 
a full glass or an empty one; to-night give your aversion 
to both free play. And when you think it is the right 
moment, give a sign to my steward, who is sitting there 
in the corner. He has a few jars of the best liquor 


XJAUDA . 


311 


from By bios,* that lie brought over with him, and he will 
bring it to you. I will come in again and bid you good- 
night.” 

Ameni was accustomed to leave the hall at the beginning 
of the drinking. 

When the door was closed behind him and his com- 
panion, when fresh rose-garlands had been brought for 
-the. necks of the company, when lotus-blossoms decorated 
their heads, and the beakers were refilled, a choir of mu- 
sicians came in, who played on harps, lutes, flutes and 
small drums. The conductor beat the time by clapping 
his hands, and when the music had raised the spirits of the 
drinkers, they seconded his efforts by rhythmical clappings. 
The jolly old Gagabu kept up his character as a stout 
drinker, and leader of the feast. 

The most priestly countenances soon beamed with cheer- 
fulness, and the officers and courtiers outdid each other in 
audacious jokes. Then the old man signed to a young 
temple-servant, who wore a costly wreath; he came for- 
ward with a small gilt image of a mummy, carried it 
round the circle, and cried: 

“Look at this; be merry and drink so long as you are 
on earth, for soon you must be like this.”f 

Gagabu gave another signal, and the regent’s steward 
brought in the wine from Byblos. Ani was much lauded 
for the wonderful choiceness of the liquor. 

“Such wine,” exclaimed the usually grave chief of the 
pastophori, “ is like soap.”j; 

“ What a simile!” cried Gagabu. “ You must explain it.” 

“ It cleanses the soul of sorrow,” answered the other. 

“Good, friend!” they all exclaimed. “Now everyone 
in turn shall praise the noble juice in some worthy saying.” 


* Gebal - Byblos in Phoenicia. A very famous wine was grown 
there, much appreciated by the Greeks. 

f A custom mentioned by Herodotus. Lucian saw such an image 
brought in at a feast. The Greeks adopted the idea, but beautified 
it, using a winged Genius of death instead of a mummy. The 
Romans also had their “larva.” 

\ This comparison is genuinely eastern. Kisra calls wine the 
“soap of the throat,” and the Mohammedans, to whom wine is 
forbidden, have nevertheless sung its merits. Many passages in 
praise of wine could be collected from Arabian and Persian poets. 


312 


UARDA. 


“ You begin — the chief prophet of the temple of Amen- 
ophis.” * 

“ Sorrow is a poison,” said the priest, “ and wine is the 
antidote.” 

“Well said! — go on; it is your turn, my lord privy- 
councillor.” 

“Everything has its secret spring,” said the official, 
“ and wine is the secret of joy.” 

“ Now you, my lord keeper of the seal.” 

“Wine seals the door on discontent, and locks the gates 
on sorrow.” 

“ That it does, that it certainly does! Now the governor 
of Hermonthis, the oldest of all the company.” 

“Wine ripens especially for us old folks, and not for you 
young people.” 

“ That you must explain,” cried a voice from the table 
of the military officers. 

“ It makes young men of the old,” laughed the octo- 
genarian, “and c ildren of the young.” 

“He has you there, you youngsters,” cried Gagabu, 
“What have you to say, Septah?” 

“ Wine is a poison,” said the morose haruspex, “ for it 
makes fools of wise men.” 

“Then you have little to fear from it, alas!” said Gagabu, 
laughing. “ Proceed, my lord of the chase.” 

“ The rim of the beaker,” was the answer, “is like the 
lip of the woman you love. Touch it, and taste it, and it 
is as good as the kiss of a bride.” 

“ General , the turn is yours.” 

“ I wish the Nile ran with such wine instead of with 
water,” cried the soldier, “and that I were as big as the 
colossus of Amenophis, and that the biggest obelisk of 
Ilatasu* were my drinking vessel, and that I might drink 
as much as I would! But now — what have you to say of 
this noble liquor, excellent Gagabu ?” 

The second prophet raised his beaker, and gazed lovingly 
at the golden fluid; he tasted it slowly, and then said with 
his eyes turned to heaven: 


* This obelisk is still standing at Karnak, and is thirty-three 
meters high. That which was taken to Paris from Luqsor, and 
which stands on the Place de la Concorde, is eleven meters less. 


UARDA. 


313 


“ I only fear that I am unworthy to thank the gods for 
such a divine blessing.” 

“Well said!” exclaimed the Regent Ani, who had re- 
entered the room unobserved. “If my wine could speak, 
it would thank you for such a speech.” 

“Hail to the Regent Ani!” shouted the guests, and they 
all rose with their cups filled with his noble present. 

He pledged them, and then rose. 

“Those,” said he, “who have appreciated this wine, I 
now invite to dine with me to-morrow. You will then 
meet with it again, and if you still find it to your liking, 
you will be heartily welcome any evening. How, good- 
night, friends.” 

A thunder of applause followed him as he quitted the 
room. 

The morning was already gray when the carousing party 
broke up; few of the guests could find their way un- 
assisted through the court-yard; most of them had already 
been carried away by the slaves who had waited for them — 
and who took them on their heads like bales of goods — 
and had been borne home in their litters; but for those 
who remained to the end, couches were prepared in the 
House of Seti, for a terrific storm was now raging. 

While the company were filling and refilling the beakers, 
which raised their spirits to so wild a pitch, the prisoner 
Pentaur had been examined in the presence of the regent. 
Amenfis messenger had found the poet on his knees, so 
absorbed in meditation that he did not perceive his ap- 
proach. All his peace of mind had deserted him, his soul 
was in a tumult, and he could not succeed in obtaining 
any calm and clear control over the new life-pulses which 
were throbbing in his heart. 

He had hitherto never gone to rest at night without re- 
quiring of himself an account of the past day, and he had 
always been able to detect the most subtle line that divided 
right from wrong in his actions. But to-night he looked 
back on a perplexing confusion of ideas and events, and 
when he endeavored to sort them and arrange them, he 
could see nothing clearly but the image of Bent-Anat, 
which enthralled his heart and intellect. 

He had raised his hand against his fellow-men, and 


314 


UARDA. 


dipped it in blood; he desired to convince himself of his 
sin, and to repent — but he could not; for each time he re- 
called it, to blame and condemn himself, he saw the 
soldier’s hand twisted in Uarda’s hair, and the princess’ 
eyes beaming with approbation, nay with admiration, and 
he said to himself that he had acted rightly, and in the 
same position would do the same again to-morrow. Still 
he felt that he had broken through all the conditions with 
which fate had surrounded his existence, and it seemed to 
him that he could never succeed in recovering the still, 
narrow, but peaceful life of the past. 

His soul went up in prayer to the Almighty One, and to 
the spirit of the sweet humble woman whom he had called 
his mother, imploring for peace of mind and modest con- 
tent; but in vain — for the longer he remained prostrate, 
flinging up his arms in passionate entreaty, the keener 
grew his longings, the less he felt able to repent or to rec- 
ognize his guilt. Ameni’s order to appear before him 
came almost as a deliverance, and he followed the messen- 
ger prepared for a severe struggle; but not afraid — almost 
joyful. 

In obedience to the command of the grave high-priest, 
Pentaur related the whole occurrence — how, as there was 
no leech in the house, be had gone with the old wife of 
the paraschites to visit her possessed husband; how, to 
save the unhappy girl from ill-usage by the mob, he had 
raised his hand in fight, and dealt indeed some heavy 
blows. 

“You have killed four men,” said Ameni, “and 
severely wounded twice as many. Why did you not reveal 
yourself as a priest, as the speaker of the morning’s dis- 
course? Why did you not endeavor to persuade the 
people with words of warning, rather than with brute 
force?” 

“I had no priest’s garment,” replied Pentaur. 

“ Thereagainyou did wrong, ’’said Ameni, “ for you know 
that the law requires of each of us never to leave this house 
without our white robes. But you cannot pretend not to 
know your own powers of speech, nor to contradict me 
when I assert that, even in the plainest working-dress you 
were perfectly able to produce as much effect with words 
as by deadly blows!” 


VARDA. 


315 


“ I might very likely have succeeded,” answered Pen- 
taur, “ but the most savage temper ruled the crowd; there 
was no time for reflection, and when I struck down the 
villain, like some reptile, who had seized the innocent girl, 
the lust of fighting took possession of me. I cared no 
more for my own life, and to save the child I would have 
slain thousands.” 

“Your eyes sparkle,” said Ameni, “as if you had per- 
formed some heroic feat; and yet the men you killed were 
only unarmed and pious citizens, who were roused to in- 
dignation by a gross and shameless outrage. I cannot con- 
ceive whence the warrior-spirit should have fallen on a 
gardener’s son — and a minister of the gods.” 

“It is true,” answered Pentaur, “when the crowd 
rushed upon me, and I drove, them back, putting out all 
my strength, I felt something of the warlike rage of the 
soldier, who repulses the pressing foe from the standard 
committed to his charge. It was sinful in a priest, no 
doubt, and I will repent of it — but I felt it.” 

“You felt it — and you will repent of it, well and good,” 
replied Ameni. “But you have not given a true account 
of all that happened. Why have you concealed that Bent- 
Anat — Rameses’ daughter — was mixed up in the fray, and 
that she saved you by announcing her name to the people, 
and commanding them to leave you alone? When you 
gave her the lie before all the people, was it because you 
did not believe that it was Bent-Anat? Now, you who 
stand so firmly on so high a platform — now you standard- 
bearer of the truth — answer me.” 

Pentaur had turned pale at his master’s words, and said, 
as he looked at the regent: 

“ We are not alone.” 

“Truth is one!” said Ameni, coolly. “What you can 
reveal to me, can also be heard by this noble lord, the 
regent of the king himself. Did you recognize Bent-Anat, 
or not?” 

“ The lady who rescued me was like her, and yet unlike,” 
answered the poet, whose blood was roused by the' subtle 
irony of his superior’s words. “ And if I bad been as sure 
that she was the princess, as I am that you are the man 
who once held me in honor, and who are now trying to 
humiliate me, I would all the more have acted as I did to 


316 


UARDA. 


spare a lady who is more like a goddess than a woman, and 
who, to save ail unworthy wretch like me, stooped from a 
throne to the dust.” 

“ Still the poet — the preacher!” said Ameni. Then lie 
added severely, “ I beg for a short and clear answer. We 
know for certain that the princess took part in the festival 
in the disguise of a woman of low rank, for she again 
declared herself to Paaker; and we know that it was she 
who saved you. But did you know that she meant to 
come across the Nile?” 

“How should I?” asked Pentaur. 

“ Well, did you believe that it was Bent-Anat whom yon 
saw before you when she ventured on to the scene of 
conflict?” 

“I did believe it,” replied Pentaur ; he shuddered and 
cast down his eyes. 

“Then it was most audacious to drive away the king’s 
daughter as an impostor.” 

“It was,” said Pentaur. “But for my sake she had 
risked the honor of her name, and that of her royal 
father, and I — I should not have risked my life and free- 
dom for ” 

“ We have heard enough,” interrupted Ameni. 

“ Not so,” the regent interposed. “ What became of 
the girl you had saved ?” 

“An old witch, Hekt by name, a neighbor of Pinem’s, 
took her and her grandmother into her cave,” answered 
the poet ; who was then, by the high-priest’s order, taken 
back to the temple-prison. 

Scarcely had he disappeared when the regent exclaimed: 

“A dangerous man! an enthusiast! an ardent wor- 
shiper of Bameses!” 

“And of his daughter,” laughed Ameni, “but only a 
worshiper. Thou hast nothing to fear from him — I will 
answer for the purity of his motives-.” 

“ But he is handsome and of powerful speech,” replied 
Ani. “I claim him as my prisoner, for he has killed one 
of my soldiers.” 

Ameni’s countenance darkened, and he answered very 
sternly: 

“ It is the exclusive right of our conclave, as established 
by our charter, to judge any member of this fraternity. 


UARDA. 


317 


You, the future king, have freely promised to secure our 
privileges to us, the champions of your own ancient and 
sacred rights.” 

“ And you shall have them,” answered the regent, with 
a persuasive smile. “ But this man is dangerous, and you 
would not have him go unpunished.” 

“ He shall be severely judged,” said Ameni, “but by us 
and in this house.” 

“ He has committed murder!” cried Ani. “More than 
one murder. He is worthy of death.” 

“ He acted under pressure of necessity,” replied Ameni. 
“And a man so favored by the gods as he is not to be 
lightly given up because an untimely impulse of generosity 
prompted him to rash conduct. I know — I can see that 
you wish him ill. Promise me, as you value me as an ally, 
that you will not attempt his life.” 

“Oh, willingly!” smiled the regent, giving the high- 
priest his hand. 

“Accept my sincere thanks,” said Ameni. “Pentaur 
was the most promising of my disciples, and in spite of 
many aberrations. I still esteem him highly. When he was 
telling us of what had occurred to-day, did he not remind 
you of the great Assa, or of his gallant son, the Osirian 
father of the pioneer Paaker?” 

“The likeness is extraordinary,” answered Ani, “and 
yet he is of quite humble birth. Who was his mother?” 

“ Our gate-keeper’s daughter, a plain, pious, simple 
creature.” 

“Now I will return to the banqueting-hall,” said Ani, 
after a few moments of reflection. “ But I must ask you 
one thing more. I spoke to you of a secret that will put 
Paaker into our power. The old sorceress Hekt, who has 
taken charge of the paraschites’ wife and grandchild, knows 
all about it. Send some police-guard over there, and let 
her be brought over here as a prisoner; I will examine her 
myself, and so can question her without exciting ob- 
servation.” 

Ameni at once sent off a party of soldiers, and then 
quietly ordered a faithful attendent to light up the so-called 
audience-chamber, and to put a seat for him in an adjoin- 
ing room. 


318 


UARDA. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

While the banquet was going forward at the temple, 
and Ameni’s messengers were on their way to the valley of 
the kings* tombs, to waken up old Ilekt, a furious storm 
of hot wind came up from the south-west, sweeping black 
clouds across the sky, and brown clouds of dust across the 
earth. It bowed the slender palm-trees as an archer bends 
his bow, tore the tent-pegs up on the scene of the festival, 
whirled the light tent-cloths up in the air, drove them 
like white witches through the dark night, and thrashed 
the still surface of the Nile till its yellow waters swirled 
and tossed in waves like a restless sea. 

Paaker had compelled his trembling slaves to row him 
abross the stream; several times the boat was near being 
swamped, but he had seized the helm himself with his un- 
injured hand, and guided it firmly and surely, though the 
rocking of the boat kept his broken hand in great and con- 
stant pain. After a few ineffectual attempts he succceeded 
in landing. The storm had blown out the lanterns at the 
masts — the signal lights for which his people looked — and 
he found neither servants nor torch-bearers on the bank, 
so he struggled through the scorching wind as far as the 
gate of his house. His big dog had aways been wont to 
announce his return home to the door-keeper with joyful 
barking; but to-night the boatman long knocked in vain 
at the heavy door. When at last he entered the court- 
yard, he found all dark, for the wind had extinguished 
the lanterns and torches, and there were no lights but in 
the windows of his mother’s rooms. 

The dogs in their open kennels now began to make 
themselves heard, but their tones were plaintive and whin- 
ing, for the storm had frightened the beasts; their howling 
cut the pioneer to the heart, for it reminded him of the 
poor slain Descher, whose deep voice he sadly missed; and 
when he went into his own room he was met by a wild 
cry of lamentation from the Ethiopian slave, for the dog 
which he had trained for Paaker’s father, and which he 
had loved. 

The pioneer threw himself on a seat, and ordered some 


UABDA. 


319 


water to be brought, that he might cool his aching hand 
in it, according to the prescription of Nebsecht. 

As soon as the old man saw the broken fingers, he gave 
another yell of woe, and when Paaker ordered him to 
cease, he asked: 

<e And is the man still alive who did that, and who 
killed Descher?” 

Paaker nodded, and while he held his hand in the cool- 
ing water he looked sullenly at the ground. He felt mis- 
erable, and he asked himself why the storm had not 
swamped the boat, and the Nile had not swallowed 
him. Bitterness and rage filled his breast, and he 
wished he were a child, and might cry. But his mood 
soon changed, his breath came quickly, his breast heaved, 
and an ominous light glowed in his e} T es. He was not 
thinking of his love, but of the revenge which was even 
dearer to him. 

“ That brood of Rameses!” he muttered. “ I will sweep 
them all away together — the king, and Mena, and those 
haughty princes, and many more — I know how. Only 
wait, only wait!” and he flung up his right fist with a 
threatening gesture. 

The door opened at this instant, and his mother entered 
the room; the raging of the storm had drowned the sound 
of her steps, and as she approached her revengeful son, 
she called his name in horror at the mad wrath which was 
depicted in his countenance. Paaker started, and then 
said, with apparent composure: 

“ Is it you, mother? It is near morning, and it is better 
to be asleep than awake in such an hour.” 

“ I could not rest in my rooms,” answered Setchem. 
“ The storm howled so wildly, and I am so anxious, so 
frightfully unhappy — as I was before your father died.” 

“ Then stay with me,” said Paaker, affectionately, “and 
lie down on my couch.” 

“ I did not come here to sleep,” replied Setchem. “ I 
am too unhappy at all that happened to you on the land^ 
ing steps, it is frightful ! No, no, my son, it is not about 
your smashed hand, though it grieves me to see you in 
pain; it is about the king, and his anger when he hears of 
the quarrel. He favors you less than he did your lost 
father, I know it well. But how wildly you smile, how 


320 


UARDA. 


wild you looked when I came in! It went through my 
bones and marrow.” 

Both were silent for a time, and listened to the furious 
raging of the storm. At last Setchem spoke. 

“There is something else,” she said, “which disturbs 
my mind. I know the poet who spoke at the festival to-day, 
young Pentaur. His figure, his face, his movements, nay 
his very voice, are exactly like those of your father at 
the time when he was young, and courted me. It is as if 
the gods were fain to see the best man that they ever took 
to themselves walk before them a second time upon 
earth.” 

“Yes, my lady,” said the black slave; “no mortal eye 
ever saw such a likeness. I saw him fighting in front of 
the paraschites' cottage, and he was more like my dead 
master than ever. He swung the tent-post over his head, 
as my lord used to swing his battle-ax.” 

“ Be silent,” cried Paaker, “and get out — idiot! The 
priest is like my father; I grant it, mother; but he is an 
insolent fellow, who offended me grossly, and with whom 
I have to reckon — as with many others.” 

“How violent you are!” interrupted his mother, “and 
how full of bitterness and hatred. Your father was so 
sweet-tempered, and kind to everybody.” 

“Perhaps they are kind to me?” retorted Paaker, with 
a short laugh. “ Even the Immortals spite me, and throw 
thorns in my path. But I will push them aside with my 
own hand, and will attain what I desire without the help 
of the gods, and overthrow all that oppose me.” 

“ We cannot blow away a feather without the help of the 
Immortals,” answered Setchem. “So your father used to 
say, who was a very different man both in body and mind 
from you. I tremble before you this evening, and at the 
curses you have uttered against the children of your lord 
and sovereign, your father's best friend.” 

“ But my enemy,” shouted Paaker. “ You will get 
nothing from me but curses. And the brood of Rameses 
shall learn whether your husband's son will let himself be 
ill used and scorned without revenging himself. I will 
fling them into an abyss, and I will laugh when I see them 
writhing in the sand at my feet!” 

“Fool!” cried Setchem, beside herself. “I am but a 


UARDA. 


321 


woman, and have often blamed myself for being soft and 
weak; but as sure as I am faithful to your dead father — 
whom you are no more like than a bramble is like a palm- 
tree — so surely will I tear my love for you out of my heart 

if you — if you Now I see! now I know! Answer me — 

murderer! Where are the seven arrows with the wicked 
words which used to hang here? Where are the arrows 
on which you had scrawled ‘Death to Mena?’ ” 

With these words Setchem breathlessly started forward, 
but the pioneer drew back as she confronted him, as in his 
youthful days when she threatened to punish him for some 
misdemeanor. She followed him up, caught him by the 
girdle, and in a hoarse voice repeated her question. He 
stood still, snatched her hand angrily from his belt, and 
said defiantly: 

“ I have put them in my quiver — and not for mere play. 
Now you know.” 

Incapable of words, the maddened woman once more 
raised her hand against her degenerate son, but he put 
back her arm. 

“ I am no longer a child,” he said, “and I am master 
of this house. I will do what I will, if a hundred women 
hindered me!” and with these words he pointed to the 
door. Setchem broke into loud sobs, and turned her back 
upon him; but at the door once more she turned to look at 
him. He had seated himself, and was resting his forehead 
on the table on which the bowl of cold water stood. 

Setchem fought a hard battle. At last once more 
through her choking tears she called his name, opened her 
arms wide and exclaimed: 

“ Here I am — here I am! Come to my heart, only give 
up those hideous thoughts of revenge.” 

But Paaker did not move, he did not look up at her, he 
did not speak ; he only shook his head in negation. 
SetchenPs hands fell and she said, softly: 

“ What did your father teach you out of the scriptures? 
( Your highest praise consists in this, to reward your mother 
for what she has done for you, in bringing you up, so that 
she may not raise her hands to God, nor He hear her 
lamentation/” 

At these words Paaker sobbed aloud, but he did not look 
at his mother. She called him tenderly by his name; then 


322 


UARDA. 


her eyes fell on his quiver, which lay on a bench with other 
arms. Her heart shrunk within her, and with a trembling 
voice she exclaimed: 

“ I forbid this mad vengeance — do you hear? Will you 
give it up? You do not move? No! you will mot! Ye 
gods, what can I do?” 

She wrung her hands in despair; then she hastily crossed 
the room, snatched out one of the arrows, and strove to 
break it. Paaker sprang from his seat and wrenched the 
weapon from her hand; the sharp point slightly scratched 
the skin, and dark drops of blood flowed from it and 
dropped upon the floor. 

The Mohar would have taken the wounded hand, for 
Setchem, who had the weakness of never being able to see 
blood flow — neither her own nor anybody’s else — had 
turned as pale as death; but she pushed him from her, and 
as she spoke her gentle voice had a dull estranged tone. 

“ This hand,” she said — “ a mother’s hand wounded by 
her son — shall never again grasp yours till you have sworn 
a solemn oath to put away from you all thoughts of revenge 
and murder, and not to disgrace your father’s name. I 
have said it, and may his glorified spirit be my witness and 
give me strength to keep my word!” 

Paaker had fallen on his knees, and was engaged in a 
terrible mental struggle, while his mother slowly went 
toward the door. There again she stood still for a 
moment; she did not speak, but her eyes appealed to him 
once more. 

In vain. At last she left the room, and the wind 
slammed the door violently behind her. Paaker groaned, 
and pressed his hand over his eyes. 

“ Mother, mother!” he cried. “I cannot go back — I 
cannot.” 

A fearful gust of wind howled round the house and 
drowned his voice, and then he heard two tremendous 
claps, as if rocks had been hurled from heaven. He started 
up and went to the window, where the melancholy gray 
dawn was showing, in order to call the slaves. Soon they 
came trooping out, and the steward called out as soon as 
he saw him: 

“ The storm has blown down the masts at the great 
gate!” 


VARDA. 


323 


“ Impossible!” cried Paaker. 

‘‘Yes, indeed!” answered the servant. “ They have 
been sawn through close to the ground. The mat-maker 
no doubt did it, whose collar-bone was broken. He has 
escaped in this fearful night.” 

“ Let out the dogs,” cried the Mohar. “ All who have 
legs run after the blackguard ! Freedom and five handfuls 
of gold for the man who brings him back.” 

The guests at the House of Seti had already gone to 
rest, when Ameni was informed of the arrival of the sor- 
ceress, and he at once went into the hall, where Ani was 
waiting to see her; the regent roused himself from a deep 
reverie when he heard the high-priest's steps. 

“Is she come?” he asked hastily; when Ameni answered 
in the affirmative Ani went on — meanwhile carefully dis- 
entangling the disordered curls of his wig, and arranging 
his broad, collar-shaped necklace: 

“ The witch may exercise some influence over me; will 
you not give me your blessing to preserve me from her 
spells? It is true, I have on me this Horus'-eye, and this 
Isis-charm, but one never knows ” 

“ My presence will be your safeguard,” said Ameni. 
“ But — no, of course you wish to speak with her alone. 
You shall be conducted to a room, which is protected 
against all witchcraft by sacred texts. My brother,” he 
continued to one of the serving priests, “ let the witch be 
taken into one of the consecrated rooms, and then, when 
you have sprinkled the threshold, lead my lord Ani 
thither.” 

The high-priest went away, and into a small room which 
adjoined the hall where the interview between the regent 
and the old woman w T as about to take place, and where 
the softest whisper spoken in the larger room could be 
heard by means of an ingeniously contrived and invisible 
tube. 

When Ani saw the old woman, he started back in horror; 
her appearance at this moment was, in fact, frightful. 
The storm had tossed and torn her garments and tumbled 
all her thick, white hair so that locks of it fell over her 
face. She leaned on a staff, and bending far forward 
looked steadily at the regent; and her eyes, red and smart- 


324 


UARDA. 


ing from the sand which the wind had flung in her face, 
seemed to glow as she fixed them on his. She looked as a 
hyena might when creeping to seize its prey, and Ani felt 
a cold shiver as he heard her hoarse voice addressing him 
to greet him, and to represent that he had chosen a strange 
hour for requiring her to speak with him. 

When she had thanked him for his promise of renewing 
her letter of freedom, and had confirmed the statement 
that Paaker had had a love-philter from her, she parted 
her hair from off her face — it occurred to her that she was 
a woman. 

The regent sat in an arm-chair, she stood before him; 
but the struggle with the storm had tired her old limbs, 
and she begged Ani to permit her to be seated, as she had 
a long story to tell, which would put Paaker into his 
power, so that he would find him as yielding as wax. The 
regent signed her to a corner of the room, and she squatted 
down on the pavement. 

When he desired her to proceed with her story, she 
looked at the floor for some time in silence, and then began, 
as if half to herself : 

“ I will tell thee, that I may find peace — I do not want, 
when I die, to be buried uneinbalmed. Who knows but 
perhaps strange things may happen in the other world, and 
I would not wish to miss them. I want to see him again 
down there, even if it were in the seventh limbo of the 
damned. Listen to me! But, before I speak, promise me 
that whatever I tell thee, thou wilt leave in peace, and wilt 
see that I am embalmed when I am dead. Else I will not 
speak.” 

Ani bowed consent. 

“No — no,” she said. “I will tell thee what to swear: 
‘ If I do not keep my word to Hekt — who gives the Mohar 
into my power — may the spirits, whom she rules, annihilate 
me before 1 mount the throne/ Do not be vexed, my 
lord — and say only ‘ Yes/ What I can tell is worth more 
than a mere word.” 

“ Well then — yes!” cried the regent, eager for the mighty 
revelation. 

The old woman muttered a few unintelligible words; 
then she collected herself, stretched out her lean neck, 
and asked, as she fixed her sparkling eyes on the man 
before her: 


UARDA. 325 

“ Didst thou ever, when thou wert young, hear of the 
singer Beki? Well, look at me — I am she.” 

She laughed loud and hoarsely, and drew her tattered 
robe across her bosom, as if half ashamed of her unpleas- 
ing person. 

“ Ay!” she continued. “Men find pleasure in grapes 
by treading them down, and when the must is drunk the 
skins are thrown on the dung-hill. Grape-skins, that is 
what I am — but you need not look at me so pitifully; I 
was grapes once, and poor and" despised as I am now, no 
one can take from me what I have had and have been. 
Mine has been a life out of a thousand, a complete life, 
full to overflowing of joy and suffering, of love and hate, 
of delight, despair and revenge. Only to talk of it raises 
me to a seat by thy throne there. No, let me be, I am used 
now to squatting on the ground; but I knew thou wouldst 
hear me to the end, for once I too was one of you. Ex- 
tremes meet in all things — I know it by experience. The 
greatest men will hold out a hand to a beautiful woman, and 
time was when I could lead you all as with a rope. Shall 
I begin at the beginning? Well — I seldom am in the mood 
for it nowadays. Fifty years ago I sang a song, with this 
voice of mine; an old crow like me sing? But so it was. 
My father was a man of rank, the governor of Abydos; 
when the first Bameses took possession of the throne my 
father was faithful to the house of thy fathers, so the new 
king sent us all to the gold mines, and there they all died 
— my parents, brothers, and sisters. I only survived by 
some miracle. As I was handsome and sahg well, a music 
master took me into his band, brought me to Thebes, and 
wherever there was a feast given in any great house, 
Beki was in request. Of flowers and money and tender 
looks I had a plentiful harvest ; but I was proud and 
cold, and the misery of my people had made me bitter 
at an age when usually even bad liquor tastes of 
honey. Not one of all the gay young fellows, princes' 
sons and nobles, dared to touch my hand. But my hour 
was to come; the handsomest and noblest man of them 
all, and grave and dignified too, wasAssa, the old Mohar's 
father, and grandfather of Pentaur— no, I should say of 
Paaker the pioneer; thou hast known him. Well, wherever 
I sang, he sat opposite me, and gazed at me, and I 


326 


VARDA. 


could not take my eyes off him, and — thou canst tell 
the rest! — no! Well, no woman before or after me can 
ever love a man as I loved Assa. Why — dost thou not 
laugh? It must seem odd, too,' to hear such a thing from 
the toothless mouth of an old witch. He is dead, long 
since dead. I hate him! and yet — wild as it sounds — I 
believe I love him yet. And he loved me — for two years; 
then he went to the war with Seti, and remained a long 
time away, and when I saw him again he had courted the 
daughter of some rich and noble house. I was handsome 
enough still, but he never looked at me at the banquets. 
I came across him at least twenty times, but he avoided 
me as if I were tainted with leprosy, and I began to fret, 
and fell ill of a fever. The doctors said it was all over 
with me, so I sent him a letter in which there was nothing 
but these words: ‘ Beki is dying, and would like to see Assa 
once more/ and in the papyrus I put his first present — a 
plain ring. And what was the answer? a handful of 
gold! Gold — gold! Thou may'st believe me, when I say 
that the sight of it was more torturing to my eyes than 
the iron with which they put out the eyes of criminals. 
Even now, when I think of it — But what do you men, you 
lords of rank and wealth, know of a breaking heart? When 
two or three of you happen to meet, and if thou shouldst 
tell the story, the most respectable will say in a pompous 
voice: ‘ The man acted nobly indeed; he was married, and 
his wife would have complained with justice if he had 
gone to see the singer/ Am I right or wrong? I know; 
not one will remember that the other was a woman, a feel- 
ing human being; it will occur to no one that his deed on 
the one hand saved an hour of discomfort, and on the other 
wrought half a century of despair. Assa escaped his wife’s 
scolding, but a thousand curses have fallen on him and on 
his house. How virtuous he felt himself when he had 
crushed and poisoned a passionate heart that had never 
ceased to love him! Ay, and he would have come if he 
had not still felt some love for me, if he had not mis- 
doubted himself, and feared that the dying woman might 
once more light up the fire he had so carefully smothered 
and crushed out. I would have grieved for him — but that 
he should send me money, money! — that I have never for- 
given; that he shall atone for in his grandchild / 7 The old 


UARDA. 


32 ? 


woman spoke the last words as if in a dream, and without 
seeming to remember her hearer. Ani shuddered, as if he 
were in the presence of a mad woman, and he involunta- 
rily drew his chair back a little way. 

The witch observed this: she took breath and went on: 
“ You lords, who walk in high places, do not know how 
things go on in the depths beneath you — you do not choose 
to know. 

“ But I will shorten my story. I got well, but I got out 
of my bed thin and voiceless. I had plenty of money, 
and I spent it in buying of every one who professed magic 
in Thebes, potions *to recover Assays love for me, or in 
paying for spells to be cast on him, or for magic drinks to 
destroy him. I tried too to recover my voice, but the 
medicines I took for it made it rougher not sweeter. Then 
an excommunicated priest, who was famous among the 
magicians, took me into his house, and there I learned 
many things; his old companions afterward turned upon 
him, he came over here into the Necropolis, and I came 
with him. When at last he was taken and hanged, I re- 
mained in his cave, and myself took to witchcraft. Chil- 
dren point their fingers at me, honest men and women 
avoid me, I am an abomination to all men, nay to myself. 
And one only is guilty of all this ruin — the noblest gentle- 
man in Thebes — the pious Assa. 

“1 had practiced magic for several years, and had become 
learned in many arts, when one day the gardener Sent, 
from whom I was accustomed to buy plants for my 
mixtures — he rents a plot of ground from the temple of 
Seti — Sent brought me a new-born child that had been 
born with six toes; I was to remove the supernumerary toe 
by my art. The pious mother of the child was lying ill of 
fever, or she never would have allowed it; I took the 
screaming little wretch — for such things are sometimes 
curable. The next morning, a few hours after sunrise, 
there was a bustle in front of my cave; a maid, evidently 
belonging to a noble house, was calling me. Her .mistress, 
she said, had come with her to visit the tomb of her 
fathers, and there had been taken ill, and had given birth 
to a child. Her mistress was lying senseless— I must go 
at once and help her. I took the little six-toed brat in my 
cloak, told my slave-girl to follow me with water, and soon 


328 


TJAUDA. 


found myself — as thou canst guess — at the tomb of Assa. 
The poor woman, who lay there in convulsions, was his 
daughter-in-law Setchem. The baby, a boy, was as sound 
as a nut, but she was evidently in great danger. I sent 
the maid with the litter, which was waiting outside, to the 
temple here for help; the girl said that her master, the 
father of the child, was at the war, but that the grandfather, 
the noble Assa, had-promised to meet the lady Setchem at 
the tomb, and would shortly be coming; then she disap- 
peared with the litter. I washed the child, and kissed it 
as if it were my own. Then I heard distant steps in the 
valley, and the recollection of the moment when I, lying 
at the point of death, had received that gift of money 
from Assa came over me, and then — [ do not know myself 
how it happened- — I gave the new-born grandchild of Assa 
to my slave-girl and told her to carry it quickly to the 
cave, and I wrapped the little six-toed baby in my rags 
and held it in my lap. There I sat — and the minutes 
seemed hours till Assa came up; and when he stood before 
me, grown gray, it is true, but still handsome and upright 
— I put the gardener’s boy, the six-toed brat, into his very 
arms, and a thousand demons seemed to laugh hoarsely 
within me. He thanked me, he did not know me, and 
once more lie offered me a handful of gold. I took it, and 
I listened as the priest, who had come from the temple, 
prophesied all sorts of fine things for the little one, who 
was born in so fortunate an hour; and then I went back 
into my cave, and there I laughed till I cried, though I do 
not know that the tears sprang from the laughter. 

“ A few days after I gave Assa’s grandchild to the gar- 
dener, and told him the sixth toe had come off ; I had 
made a little wound on his foot to take in the bumpkin. 
So Assa’s grandchild, the son of the Mohar, grew up as the 
gardener’s child, and received the name of Pentaur, and 
he was brought up in the temple here, and is wonderfully 
like Assa; but the gardener’s monstrous brat is the pioneer 
Paaker. That is the whole secret.” 

Ani had listened in silence to the terrible old woman. 

We are involuntarily committed to any one who can in- 
form us of some absorbing fact, and who knows how to 
make the information valuable. It did not occur to the 
regent to punish the witch for her crimes; he thought 


UARDA. 


329 


little wretch like 
like many other 


rather of the old delights when she had spoken of the songs 
and the beauty of the singer Beki. He looked at the 
woman, and a cold shiver ran through all his limbs. 

“You may live in peace,” he said at last; “and when 
you die I will see to your being embalmed; but give up 
your black arts. You must be rich, and, if you are not, 
say what you need. Indeed, I scarcely dare offer you 
gold — it excites your hatred, as I understand.” 

“I could take thine — but now let me go!” 

She got up, and went toward the door, but the regent: 
called to her to stop, and asked: 

“ Is Assa the father of your son the little Nemu, the 
dwarf of the lady Katuti?” 

The witch laughed loudly. “ Is the 
Assa or like Beki? I picked him up 
children.” 

“ But he is clever!” said Ani. 

“Ay — that he is. He has planned many a shrewd 
stroke, and is devoted to his mistress. He will help thee 
to thy purpose, for he himself has one too.” 

“ And that is ” 

“Katuti will rise to greatness with thee, and to riches 
through Paaker, who sets out to-morrow to make the 
woman he loves a widow.” 

“You know a great deal,” said Ani, meditatively, “ and 
I would ask you one thing more; though indeed your 
story has supplied the answer — but perhaps you know 
more now than you did in your youth. Is there in truth 
any effectual love-philter?” 

“I will not deceive" thee, for I desire that thou shouldst 
keep thy word to me,” replied Iiekt. “ A love potion 
rarely has any effect, and never but on women who have 
never before loved. If it is given to a woman whose heart 
is filled with the image of another man, her passion for 
him only will grow the stronger.” 

“Yet another,” said Ani. “ Is there any way of de- 
stroying* an enemy at a distance?” 

“ Certainly,” said the witch. “ Little people may do 
mean things, and great people can let others do things 
that they cannot do themselves. My story has stirred thy 
gall, and it seems to me that thou dost not love the poet 
Pentaur. A smile! Well then — I have not lost sight of 


330 


UARDA. 


him, and I know he is grown up as proud and as hand- 1 
some as Assa. He is wonderfully like him, and I could 
have loved him — have loved as this foolish heart had better » 
never have loved. It is strange! In many women, who ; 
come to me, I see how their hearts cling to the children of ' 
men who have abandoned them, and we women are all 
alike in most things. But I will not let myself love 
Assays grandchild— I must not. I will injure him, and 
help everyone that persecutes him; for though Assa is | 
dead, the wrongs he did me live in me so long as I live my- jj 
self. Pentau/s destiny must go on its course. If thou | 
wilt have his life, consult with Nenni, for he hates him 
too, and he will serve thee more effectually than I can 
with my vain spells and silly harmless brews. Now let 
me go home!” 

A few hours later Ameni sent to invite the regent to 
breakfast. 

“ Do you know who the witch Hekt is?” asked Ani. 

“ Certainly — how should I not know? She is the singer 
Beki — the former enchantress of Thebes. May I ask what 
her communications were?” 

Ani thought it best not to confide the secret of Pentaur’s ' 
birth to the high-priest, and answered evasively. Then 
Ameni begged to be allowed to give him some informa- 
tion about the old woman, and how she had had a hand in 
the game; and he related to his hearer, with some omissions 
and variations — as if it were a fact he had long known — 
the very story which a few hours since he had overheard, 
and learned for the first time. Ani feigned great astonish- 
ment, and agreed with the high-priest that Paaker should 
not for the present be informed of his true origin. 

“He is a strangely constituted man,” said Ameni, “and 
he is not incapable of playing us some unforeseen trick 
before he has done his part, if he is told who he is.” 

The storm had exhausted itself, and the sky, though 
covered still with torn and flying clouds, cleared by de- 
grees, as the morning went on; a sharp coolness succeeded 
the hot blast, but the sun as it mounted higher and higher 
soon heated the air. On the roads and in the gardens lay 
uprooted trees and many slightly-built houses which had 


UARDA. 


331 


been blown down, while the tents in the strangers* quarter, 
and hundreds of light palm-thatched roofs, had been 
swept away. 

The regent was returning to Thebes, and with him went 
Ameni, who desired to ascertain by his own eyes what mis- 
chief the whirlwind had done to his garden in the city. 
On the Nile they met Paaker’s boat, and Ani caused it and 
his own to be stopped, while he requested Paaker to visit 
him shortly at the palace. 

The high-priest*s garden was in no respect inferior in 
beauty and extent to that of the Mohar. The ground had 
belonged to his family from the remotest generations, and 
his house was large and magnificent. He seated himself 
in a shady arbor, to take a repast with his still handsome 
wife and his young and pretty daughters. 

He consoled his wife for the various damage done by the 
hurricane, promised the girls to build a new and hand- 
somer dove-cote in the place of the one which had been 
blown down, and laughed and joked with them all; for 
here the severe head of the House of Seti, the grave 
superior of the Necropolis, became a simple man, an 
affectionate husband, a tender father, a judicious friend, 
among his children, his flowers, and his birds. His 
youngest daughter clung to his right arm, and an older 
one to his left, when he rose from table to go with them 
to the poultry-yard. 

On the way thither a servant announced to him that the 
lady Setchem wished to see him. 

“ Take her to your mistress/* he said. 

But the slave — who held in his hand a handsome gift in 
money — explained that the widow wished to speak with 
him alone. 

“Can I never enjoy an hour’s peace like other men?** 
exclaimed Ameni, annoyed. “ Your mistress can receive 
her, and she can wait with her till I come. It is true, 
girls — is it not? — that I belong to you just now, and to the 
fowls, and ducks, and pigeons?** 

His youngest daughter kissed him, the second patted 
him affectionately, and they all three went gayly forward. 
An hour later he requested the lady Setchem to accom- 
pany him into the garden. 

The poor, anxious, and frightened woman had resolved 


332 


UARDA , . 


on this step with much difficulty; tears filled her kind 
eyes as she communicated her troubles to the high-priest. 

“Thou art a wise counsellor," she said, “and thou 
knowest well how my son honors the gods of the temple of 
Set! with gifts and offerings. He will not listen to his 
mother, but thou hast influence with him. He meditates 
frightful things, and if he cannot be terrified by threats 
of punishment from the immortals, he will raise his hand 
against Mena, and perhaps ’’ 

“Against the king/' interrupted Ameni, gravely. “I 
know it, and I will speak to him." 

“Thanks, oh, a thousand thanks!" cried the widow, 
and she seized the high-priest’s robe to kiss it. “ It was 
thou who soon after his birth didst tell my husband that 
he was born under a lucky star, and would grow to be an 
honor and an ornament to his house and to his country. 
And now — now he will ruin himself in this world, and the 
next." 

“ What I foretold of your son," said Ameni, “shall as- 
suredly be fulfilled, for the ways of the gods are not as 
the ways o? men." 

“ Thy words do me good!" cried Setchem. “None can 
tell what fearful terror weighed upon my heart, when I 
made up my mind to come here. But thou dost not yet 
know all. The great masts of cedar, which Paaker sent 
from Lebanon to Thebes to bear our banners, and orna- 
ment our gateway, were thrown to the ground at sunrise 
by the frightful wind." 

“ Thus shall your son’s defiant spirit be broken," said 
Ameni; “but for you, if you have patience, new joys shall 
arise." 

“ I thank thee again," said Setchem. “ But something 
yet remains to be said. I know that I am wasting the 
time that thou dost devote to thy family, and I remember 
thy saying once that here in Thebes thou wert like a pack- 
horse with his load taken off, and free to wander over a 
green meadow. I will not disturb thee much longer — but 
the gods sent me such a wonderful vision. Paaker would 
not listen to me, and I went back into my room full of 
sorrow; and when at last, after the sun had risen, I fell 
asleep for a few minutes, I dreamed I saw before me the 
poet Pentaur, who is so wonderfully like my dead husband 


UARDA . 


333 


in appearance and in voice. Paaker went up to him, and 
abused him violently, and threatened him with his fist; 
the priest raised his arms in prayer, just as I saw him yes- 
terday at the festival — but not in devotion, but to seize 
Paaker, and wrestle with him. The struggle did not last 
long, for Paaker seemed to shrink up, and lost his human 
form, and fell at the poet's feet — not my son, but a shape- 
less lump of clay such as the potters use to make jars of." 

“ A strange dream!" exclaimed Ameni, not without agi- 
tation. “Avery strange dream, but it bodes you good. 
Clay, Setchem, is yielding, and clearly indicates that which 
the gods prepare for you. The immortals will give you 
a new and a better son instead of the old one, but it is not 
revealed to me by what means. Go now and sacrifice to 
the gods, and trust to the wisdom of those who guide the 
life of the universe, and of all mortal creatures. Yet— -I 
would give you one more word* of advice. If Paaker comes 
to you repentant, receive him kindly, and let me know; 
but if he will not yield, close your rooms against him, and 
let him depart without taking leave of you." 

When ' Setchem, much encouraged, was gone away, 
Ameni said to himself: 

“ She will find splendid compensation for this coarse 
scoundrel, and she shall not spoil the tool we need to strike 
our blow! I have often doubted how far dreams do, in- 
deed, foretell the future, but to-day my faith in them is 
increased. Certainly a mother’s heart sees further than 
that of other men." 

At the door of her house Setchem came up with her 
son’s chariot. They saw each other, but both looked away, 
for they could not meet affectionately, and would not meet 
coldly. As the horses outran the litter-bearers, the mother 
and son looked round at each other, their eyes met, and 
each felt a stab in the heart. 

In the evening the pioneer, after he had had an inter- 
view with the regent, went to the temple of Seti to receive 
Ameni’s blessing on all his undertakings. Then, after 
sacrificing in the tomb of his ancestors, he set out for 
Syria. 

Just as he was getting into his chariot, news was brought 
him that the mat-maker, who had sawn through the masts 
at the gate, had been caught. 


334 


UARDA. 


“ Pat out his eyes!” he cried; and these were the, last 
words he spoke as he quitted his home. 

Setchem looked after him for a long time; she had re- 
fused to bid him farewell, and now she implored the gods 
to turn his heart, and to preserve him from malice and 
crime. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

Three days had passed since the pioneer’s departure, 
and although it was still early, busy occupation was astir 
in Bent-Anat’s work-rooms. 

The ladies had passed the stormy night, which had suc- 
ceeded the exciting evening of the festival, without sleep. 

Xefert felt tired and sleepy the next morning, and 
begged the princess to introduce her to her new duties for 
the first time next day; but the princess spoke to her en- 
couragingly, told her that no man should put off doing 
right till the morrow, and urged her to follow her into her 
workshop. 

“ We must both come to different minds,” said she. “ I 
often shudder involuntarily, and feel as if I bore a brand — 
as if I had a stain here on my shoulder where it was 
touched by Paaker’s rough hand.” 

The first day of labor gave Nefert a good many difficul- 
ties to overcome; on the second day the work she had 
begun already had a charm for her, and by the third she 
rejoiced in the little results of her care. 

Bent-Anat had put her in the right place, for she had 
the direction of a large number of young girls and women, 
the daughters, wives and widows of those Thebans who 
were at the war, or who had fallen in the field, who sorted 
and arranged the healing herbs. 

Her helpers sat in little circles on the ground; in the 
midst of each lay a great heap of fresh and dry plants, and 
in front of each work- woman a number of parcels of the 
selected roots, leaves and flowers. 

An old physician presided over the whole, and had 
shown Nefert the first day the particular plants which he 
needed. 

The wife of Mena, who was fond of flowers, had soon 


UARDA . 


335 


learned them all, and she taught willingly, for she loved 
children. 

She soon had favorites among the children, and knew 
some as being industrious and careful, others as idle and 
heedless. 

“Ah! ah!” she exclaimed, bending over a little half- 
naked maiden with great almond-shaped eyes. “ You are 
mixing them all together. Your father, as you tell me, is 
at the war. Suppose, now, an arrow were to strike him, 
and this plant, which would hurt him, were laid on the 
burning wound instead of this other, which would do him 
good — that would be very sad.” 

The child nodded her head, and looked her work through 
again. Nefert turned to a little idler, and said: “You 
are chattering again, and doing nothing, and yet your 
father is in the field. If he were ill now, and has no 
medicine, and if at night when he is asleep he dreams of 
you, and sees you sitting idle, he may say to himself: 
"Now I might get well, but my little girl at home does not 
love me, for she would rather sit with her hands in her 
lap than sort herbs for her sick father/” 

Then Nefert turned to a large group of the girls, who 
were sorting plants, and said: “Do you, children, know 
the origin of all these wholesome, healing herbs? The. 
good Horus went out to fight against Seti, the murderer of 
his father, and the horrible enemy wounded Horus in the 
eye* in the struggle; but the son of Osiris conquered, for 
good always conquers evil. But when Isis saw the bad 
wound, she pressed her son’s head to her bosom, and her 
heart was as sad as that of any poor human mother that 
holds her suffering child in her arms. And she thought: 

‘ How easy it is to give wounds, and how hard it is to heal 
them!’ and so she wept; one tear after another fell on the 
earth, and wherever they wetted the ground there sprang 
up a kindly healing plant.” f 

* According to tlie “Book of the Dead,” and Isis also holds the 
eye of Horus. 

f The Egyptians attributed creative power to the blood and the 
tears of the gods. Lefebure has treated the subject in “ Le Mythe 
Osirien.” In “the praises of Ra,” edited by Naville, the god is 
addressed as “ Remi,” i. e., the weeper; and in the sentences found 
with the pictures of the four races of men in the tomb of Seti 1, at 


336 


TJARDA. 


“Isis is good!” cried a little girl opposite to her. 
“ Mother says Isis loves children when they are good.” 

“ Your mother is right,” replied Nefert. “ Isis herself 
has her dear little son Horns ; and every human being 
that dies, and that was good, becomes a child again, and 
the goddess makes it her own, and takes it to her breast, 
and nurses it with her sister Nephthys till he grows up and 
can fight for his father.” 

Nefert observed that while she spoke one of the women 
was crying. She went up to her, and learned that her 
husband and her son were both dead, the former in Syria, 
and the latter after his return to Egypt. 

“Poor soul!” said Nefert. “Now you will be Very 
careful, that the wounds of others may be healed. I will 
tell you something more about Isis. She loved her hus- 
band Osiris dearly, as you did your dead husband, and I 
my husband Mena, but he fell a victim to the cunning of 
Seth, and she could not tell where to find the body that 
had been carried away, while you can visit your husband 
in his grave. Then Isis went through the land lamenting, 
and ah! what was to become of Egypt, which received all 
its fruitfulness from Osiris. The sacred Nile was dried up, 
and not a blade of verdure was green on its banks. The 
goddess grieved over this beyond words, and one of her 
tears fell in the bed of the river, and immediately it began 
to rise. You know, of course, that each inundation arises 
from a tear of Isis. Thus a widow’s sorrow may bring 
blessing to millions of human beings.” 

The woman had listened to her attentively, and when 
Nefert ceased speaking, she said: 

“ But I have still three little brats of my son’s to feed, 
for his wife, who was a. washerwoman, was eaten by a 
crocodile while she was at work. Poor folks must work 
for themselves and not for others. If the princess did not 
pay us, I could not think of the wounds of the soldiers, 
who do not belong to me. 1 am no longer strong, and 
four mouths to fill ” 

Nefert was shocked — as she often was in the course of 


Biban el Muluk, there is a passage from which it appears that 
man also sprung from the tears of the god, since he thus addresses 
the people : “Ye are a tear from mine eyes, Ye who are called 
Men!” 


UARDA. 


337 

her new duties — and begged Bent-Anat to raise the wages 
of the woman. 

“ Willingly," said the princess. “ How could I beat 
down such an assistant? Come, now, witli me into the 
kitchen. I am having some fruit packed for my father 
and brothers; there must be a box for Mena, too." 

Nefert followed her royal friend, found them packing in 
one case the golden dates of the oasis of Amon,* and in 
another the dark dates of Nubia, the king’s favorite sprt. 

“ Let me pack them!" cried Nefert; she made the serv- 
ants empty the box again, and rearranged -the various- 
colored dates in graceful patterns, with other fruits pre- 
served in sugar. 

Bent-Anat looked on, and when she had finished she 
took her hand. “ Whatever your fingers have touched," 
she exclaimed, “ takes some pretty aspect. Give me that 
scrap of papyrus; 1 shall put it in the case and write 
upon it : 

“ ‘These were packed for King Rameses by his daugh- 
ter’s clever helpmate, the wife of Mena.’" 

After the midday rest the princess was called away, and 
Nefert remained for some hours alone with the work- 
women. 

When the sun went down, and the busy crowd were 
about to leave, Nefert detained them, and said : “ The 
Sun-bark is sinking behind the western hills; come, let us 
pray together for the king and for those we love in the 
field. Each of you think of her own: you children of your 
fathers, you women of your sons, and we wives of our dis- 
tant husbands, and let us entreat Amon that they may 
return to us as certainly as the sun, which now leaves us, 
will rise again to-morrow morning." 

Nefert knelt down, and with her the women and the 
children. 

When they rose a little girl went up to Nefert and said, 
pulling her dress: “Thou hast made us kneel here yester- 
day, and already my mother is better, because I prayed for 
her." 

“ No doubt," said Ifefert, stroking the child’s black hair. 

*Now called the oasis of Siwali. Its date palms are still famous 
for their fruit. 


338 


VARDA. 


She found Bent-Anat on the terrace meditatively gazing 
across to the Necropolis, which was fading into darkness 
before her eyes. She started when she heard the light 
footstep of her friend. 

“ I am disturbing thee,” said Nefert, about to retire. 

“ No, stay,” said Bent-Anat. “ I thank the gods that 
I have you, for my heart is sad — pitifully sad.” 

“I know where your thoughts were,” said Nefert, softly. 

“ Well?” asked the princess. 

“ With Pentaur.” 

“I think 'of him — always of him,” replied the princess, 
“ and nothing else occupies my heart. I am no longer 
myself. What I think I ought not to think, what I feel 
1 ought not to feel, and yet I cannot command it, and I 
think my heart would bleed to death if I tried to cut out 
those thoughts and feelings. I have behaved strangely, 
nay, unbecomingly, and now that which is hard to endure 
is hanging over me, something strange — which will per- 
haps drive you from me back to your mother.” 

“1 will share everything with you,” cried- Nefert. 
“ What is going to happen? Are you then no longer the 
daughter of Rameses?” 

“ I showed myself to the people as a woman of the 
people,” answered Bent-Anat, “and I must take the con- 
sequences. Bek-en-Chunsu, the high-priest of Amon, has 
been with me, and I-have had a long conversation with 
him. The worthy man is good to me, I know, and my 
father ordered me to follow his advice before anyone’s. 
He showed me that I have erred deeply. In a state of 
uncleanness I went into one of the temples of the Necrop- 
olis, and after I had once been in the paraschites’ house 
and incurred Ameni’s displeasure, I did it a second time. 
They know over there all that took place at the festival. 
Now I must undergo purification, either with great solem- 
nity at the hands of Ameni himself, before all the priests 
and nobles in the House of Seti, or by performing a pil- 
grimage to the Emerald-Hathor,* under whose influence 

* “ Hatkor of tlie Mafkat ” was especially revered in the peninsula 
of Sinai. According to Lepsius’ searching investigation as to the 
metals of the ancient Egyptians, it is proved that Mafkat is neither 
copper nor turquoise, but a green stone. When the Mafkat is termed 
“true” or “ genuine,” emerald is meant ; in other cases malachite, 
^lirysoprase and green glass, which are frequently found in the 


VARDA. 


339 


the precious stones are hewn from the rocks, metals dug 
out and purified by fire. The goddess shall purge me from 
my uncleanness as metal is purged from the dross. At a 
day s journey and more from the mines, an abundant 
stream flows from the holy mountain — Sinai, as it is called 
by the Mentu — and near it stands the sanctuary of the god- 
dess, in which priests grant purification. The journey is 
a long one, through the desert, and over the sea; but Bek- 
en-Chunsu advises me to venture it. Ameni, he says, is 
not amiably disposed toward me, because I infringed the 
ordinance which he values above all others. I must submit 
to double severity, he says, because the people look first 
to those of the highest rank; and if I went unpunished 
for contempt of the sacred institutions there might be im- 
itators among the crowd. He speaks in the name of the 
gods, and they measure hearts with an equal measure. 
The ell-measure is the symbol of the goddess of Truth.* * 
I feel that it is all not unjust; and yet I find it hard to 
submit to the priest's decree, for I am the daughter of 
Rameses!" 

“ Ay, indeed!" exclaimed Nefert, “ and he is himself a 
god!' 

“But he taught me to respect the laws!" interrupted 
the princess. “ I discussed another thing with Bek-en- 
Chunsu. You know I rejected the suit of the regent. He 
must secretly be much vexed with me. That indeed would 
not alarm me, but he is the guardian and protector ap- 
pointed over me by my father, and yet can ] turn to him 
in confidence for counsel and help? No! I am still a 
woman, and Raineses' daughter ! Sooner will I travel 
through a thousand deserts than humiliate my father 


tombs. Ornaments of malachite are rare. We may here mention an 
exquisite figure of the god Ptali made of this stone, which is pre- 
served in the Japanese palace at Dresden. Monuments which 
remain at both the mining establishments of Sinai, Wadi Maghara, 
and Sarbut el Chadem, indicate that Hathor was worshiped there in 
preference to all other divinities. 

* The name of the goddess of Truth, Ma, was written with the 
hieroglyphic which represented the ell-measure. Several specimens 
of the old sacred ell - measure have been preserved. Lepsius has 
fully treated the subject : Die altegyptische Elle und ihre 
Eintheilung. 


340 


UARDA. 


through his child. Bv to-morrow I shall have decided; 
but, indeed, I have already decided to make the journey, 
hard as it is to leave much that is here. Do not fear, dear! 
but you are too tender for such a journey, and to such a 
distance; I might ” 

“ No, no,” cried Nefert. “ I am going, too, if } r ou were 
going to the four pillars of heaven,* at the limits of the 
earth. You have given me a new life, and the little sprout 
that is green within me would wither again if I had to re- 
turn to my mother. Only she or I can be in our house, 
and I will re-enter it only with Mena.” 

“ It is settled — I must go,” said the princess. “ Oh! if 
only my father were not so far off, and that I could consult 
him!” 

“Yes! the war, and always the war!” sighed Nefert. 
“Why do not men rest content with what they have, and 
prefer the quiet peace, which makes life lovely, to idle 
fame?” 

“Would they be men? should we love them?” cried 
Bent- Anat, eagerly. “Is not the mind of the gods, too, 
bent on war? Did you ever see a more sublime sight than 
Pentaur, on that evening when he branished the stake he 
had pulled up, and exposed his life to protect an innocent 
girl who was in danger?” 

“ I dared not once look down into the court,” said 
Nefert. “ I was in such an agony of mind. But his loud 
cry still rings in my ears.” 

“ So rings the war-cry of heroes before whom the enemy 
quails!” exclaimed Bent- Anat. 

“Ay, truly so rings the war-crv!” said Prince Rameri, 
who had entered his sister’s half-dark room unperceived* 
by the two women. 

The princess turned to the boy. “ How you frightened 
me!” she said. 

“You!” said Rameri, astonished. 

“Yes, me. I used to have a stout heart, but since that 


* The pillars of heaven are alluded to in various circumstances. 
On the beautiful Stele of Victory of Thotmes III, at Bulaq, it is 
written, “ I, Amon, have spread the fear of thee to the four pillars of 
heaven.” They were supposed to stand at the uttermost points of 
the north, south, east and west, and the phrase is often used for the 
four quarters of the heavens. 


UARDA. 


341 


evening 1 frequently tremble, and an agony of terror comes 
over me, I do not know why. I believe some demon com- 
mands me.” 

“ You command wherever you go; and no one com- 
mands you,” cried Rarneri. “ The excitement and tumult 
in the valley, and on the quay, still agitate you. I grind 
my teeth myself when I remember how they turned me out 
of the school, and how Paaker set the dog at us. I have 
gone through a great deal to-day too.” 

“Where were you so long?” asked Bent-Anat. “My 
Uncle Ani commanded that you should not leave the 
palace.” 

“I shall be eighteen years old next month,” said the 
prince, “and need no tutor.” 

“ But your father ” said Bent-Anat. 

“My father;” interrupted the boy, “he little knows 
the regent. But I shall write to him what I have to-day 
heard said by different people. They were to have sworn 
allegiance to Ani at that very feast in the valley, and it is 
quite openly said that Ani is aiming at the throne, and in- 
tends to depose the king. You are right, it is madness — 
but there must be something behind it all.” 

Nefert turned pale, and Bent-Anat asked for particu- 
lars. The prince repeated all lie had gathered, and added, 
laughing: “ Ani depose my father! It is as if I tried to 
snatch the star of Isis from the sky to put it here for a 
lamp — which is much wanted.” 

“ It is more comfortable in the dark,” said Nefert. 

“ No, let us have lights,” said Bent-Anat. “ It is 
better to talk when we can see each Other face to face. I 
have no belief in the foolish talk of the people; but you 
are right — we must bring it to my father's knowledge.” 

“I heard the wildest gossip in the City of the Dead,” 
said Rarneri. 

“You ventured over there? How very wrong!” 

“I disguised myself a little, and I have good news for 
you. Pretty Uarda is much better. She received your 
present, and they have a house of their own again. Close 
to the one that was burnt down, there was a tumble-down 
hovel, which her father soon put together again; he is a 
bearded soldier, who is as much like her as a hedgehog is 
like a white dove. I offered her to work in the palace for 


342 


UARDA. 


you with the other girls, for good wages, but she would 
not; for she has to wait on her sick grandmother, and she 
is proud, and will not serve anyone,* 

“It seems you were a long time with the paraschites* 
people,” said Bent- Anat, reprovingly. “I should have 
thought that what has happened to me might have served , 
you as a warning.” 

“I will not be better than you!” cried the boy. “Be- j 
sides, the paraschites is dead, and Uarda’s father is a 
respectable soldier, who can defile no one. I kept a long 
way from the old woman. To-morrow I am going again. 

I promised her.” 

“Promised who?” asked his sister. 

“ Who but Uarda? She loves flowers, and since the 
rose which you gave her she has not seen one. I have 
ordered the gardener to cut me a basket full of roses to- 
morrow morning, and shall take them to her myself.” 

“ That you will not!” cried Bent- Anat. “You are still 
but half a child — and, for the girl’s sake too, you must 
give it up.” 

“ We only gossip together,” said the prince, coloring, 

“ and no one shall recognize me. But certainly, if you 
mean that, I will leave the basket of roses, and go to her 
alone. No — sister, I will not be forbidden this; she is so 
charming, so white, so gentle, and her voice is so soft and 
sweet! And she has little feet, as small as — what shall I 
say? — as small and graceful as Nefert’s hand. We talked 
most about Pentaur. She knows his father, who is a gar- 
dener, and knows a great deal about him. Only think! 
she says the poet cannot be the son of his parents, but a 
good spirit that has come down on earth — perhaps a god. 

At first she was very timid, but when I spoke of Pentaur 
she grew eager; her reverence for him is almost idolatry — 
and that vexed me.” 

“You would rather she should reverence you so,” said 
Nefert, smiling. 

“'Not at all,” cried Rameri. “But I helped to save 
her, and I am so happy when I am sitting with her, that 
to-morrow, I am resolved, I will put a flower in her hair. 

It is red certainly, but as thick as yours, Bent- Anat, and 
it must be delightful to unfasten it and stroke it.” 

The ladies exchanged a glance of intelligence, and the 
princess said decidedly: 


UARDA. 343 

“ You will not go to the City of the Dead to-morrow, 
my little son !” 

“ That we will see, my little mother !” he answered, 
laughing; then he turned grave. 

“ I saw my school-friend Anana, too/’ he said. “Injus- 
tice reigns in the House of Seti! Pentaur is in prison, 
and yesterday evening they sat in judgment upon him. My 
uncle was present, and would have pounced upon the poet, 
hut Ameni took him under his protection. What was 
finally decided, the pupils could not learn, but it must 
have been something bad, for the son of the Treasurer 
heard Ameni saying, after the sitting, to old Gagabu: 
‘Punishment he deserves, but I will not let him be over- 
whelmed;' and he can have meant no one but Pentaur. 
To-morrow I will go over, and learn more; something 
frightful, I am afraid — several years of imprisonment is 
the least that will happen to him.” 

Bent-Anat had turned very pale. 

“And whatever they do to him,” she cried, “he will 
suffer for my sake! Oh, ye omnipotent gods, help him— 
help me, be merciful to us both!” 

She covered her face with her hands, and left the room. 
Rameri asked Nefert: 

“What can have come to my sister? she seems quite 
strange to me; and you too are not the same as you used to 
be.” 

“We both have to find our way in new circumstances.” 

“ What are they?” 

“That I cannot explain to you! — but it appears .to me 
that you soon may experience something of the same kind. 
Rameri, do not go again to the paraschites.” 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

Early on the following day the dwarf Nemu went past 
the restored hut of Uarda’s father — in which he had 
formerly lived with his wife — with a man in a long coarse 
robe, the steward of some noble family. They went 
toward old Hekt’s cave-dwelling. 

“ I would beg thee to wait down here a moment, noble 


344 


UARDA. 


lord/' said the dwarf, “ while I announce thee to my 
mother.” 

“ That sounds very grand/' said the other. “ However, 
so be it. But stay! The old woman is not to call me by 
my name or by my title. She is to call me ‘ steward ' — 
that no one may know. But, indeed, no one would recog- 
nize me in this dress.'' 

Nemu hastened to the cave, but before he reached his 
mother she called out: “ Do not keep my lord waiting — 
I know him well." 

Nemu laid his finger to his lips. 

“ You are to call him steward," said he. 

“ Good," muttered the old woman. “ The ostrich puts 
his head under his feathers when he does not want to be 
seen." 

“ Was the young prince long with Uarda yesterday?" 

“ No, you fool," laughed the witch, “ the children play 
together. Rameri is a kid without horns, but who fancies 
he knows where they ought to grow. Pentaur is a more 
dangerous rival with the red-headed girl. Make haste, 
now; these stewards must not be kept waiting." 

The old woman gave the dwarf a push, and he hurried 
back to Ani, while she carried the child, tied to his board, 
into the cave, and threw the sack over him. 

A few minutes later the regent stood before her. 

She bowed before him with a demeanor that was more 
like the singer Beki than the sorceress Hekt, and begged 
him to take the only seat she possessed. 

When, with a wave of his hand, he declined to sit down, 
she said: 

“ Yes — yes — be seated! then thou wilt not be seen from 
the valley, but be screened by the rocks close by. Why 
hast thou chosen this hour for thy visit?" 

“ Because the matter presses of which I wish to speak," 
answered Ani; “and in the evening I might easily be 
challenged by the watch. My disguise is good. Under 
this robe I wear my usual dress. From this I shall go to 
the tomb of my father, where I shall take off this coarse 
thing, and these other disfigurements, and shall wait for 
my chariot, which is already ordered. I shall tell people 
I had made a vow to visit the grave humbly, and on foot, 
which I have now fulfilled." 


UAUDA. 


345 


*• Well planned,” muttered the old woman. 

Ani pointed to the dwarf, and said politely : “ Your 

pupil.” 

Since her narrative, the sorceress was no longer a mere 
witch in his eyes. The old woman understood this, and 
saluted him with a courtesy of such courtly formality that 
a tame raven at her feet opened his black" beak wide, and 
uttered a loud scream. She threw a bit of cheese within 
the cave, and the bird hopped after it, flapping his clipped 
wings, and was silent. 

“ I have to speak to you about Pentaur,” said Ani. 

The old woman’s eyes flashed, and she eagerly asked, 
“ What of him?” 

“ I have reasons,” answered the regent, “for regarding 
him as dangerous to me. He stands in my way. He has 
committed many crimes, even murder; but he is in favor 
at the House of Seti, and they would willingly let him go 
unpunished. They have the right of sitting in judgment 
on each other, and I cannot interfere with their decisions; 
the day before yesterday they pronounced their sentence. 
They would send him to the quarries of Cheimu.* All my 
objections were disregarded, and now — Nemu, go over to 
the grave of Amenophis, and wait there for me — I wish id 
speak to your mother alone.” 

Nemu bowed, and went down the slope, disappointed, it 
is true, but sure of learning later what the two had dis- 
cussed together. 

* Cliennu is now Gebel Silsileh; the quarries there are of enor- 
mous extent, and almost all the sandstone used for building the tem- 
ples of Upper Egypt was brought from thence. The Nile is narrower 
there than above, and large stelae were erected there by Rameses II 
and his successor Mernephtah, on which were inscribed beautiful 
hymns to the Nile, and lists of the sacrifices to be offered at the Nile 
festivals. These inscriptions can be restored by comparison, and my 
friend Stern and I had the satisfaction of doing this on the spot 
(Zeitschrift fur Agyptische Sprache, 1873, p. 129). Rameses the 
Great instituted two Nile festivals, which Stern identifies with “ the 
night of the drop,” or “of the tear,” and with “the cutting of the 
dykes.” Among the Arabs the belief still prevails that the rising of 
the Nile proceeds from a divine tear. The night of the tear is the 
eleventh Bauneh (in 1873 the seventeenth of June) when the Nile 
is at its lowest, and the second festival is fixed according to 
the level to which the waters have risen. The two Nile feasts were 
solemnized at an interval of two months, as also are their modern 
successors. 


346 


VARDA. 


When the little man had disappeared, Ani asked: — 

“ Have you still a heart true to the old royal house, to 
which your parents were so faithfully attached?” 

The old woman nodded. 

“Then you will not refuse your help toward its restora- 
tion. You understand how necessary the priesthood is to 
me, and 1 have sworn not to make any attempt on Pentaur’s 
life; but, I repeat it, he stands in my way. I have my | 
spies in the House of Seti, and I know through them what 
the sending of the poet to Ohennu really means. For a 
time they will let him hew sandstone, and that will only 
improve his health, for he is as sturdy as a tree. In 
Ohennu, as you know, besides the quarries there is the 
great college of priests, which is in close alliance with the 
temple of Seti. When the flood begins to rise, and they 
hold the great Nile festival in Ohennu, the priests there 
have the right of taking three of the criminals who are 
working in the quarries into their house as servants. 
Naturally they will, next year, choose Pentaur, set him at 
liberty — and I shall be laughed at.” 

“ Well considered!” said Hekt. 

“I have taken counsel with myself, with Katuti, and 
even with Nemu,” continued Ani, “ but all that they have 
suggested, though certainly practicable, was unadvisable, 
and at any rate must have led to conjectures which I must 
now avoid. What is your opinion?” 

“Assays race must be exterminated!” muttered the old 
woman, hoarsely. 

She gazed at the ground, reflecting. 

“Let the boat be scuttled,” she said at last, “and sink 
with the chained prisoners before it reaches Ohennu.” 

“No — no; I thought of that myself, and Nemu too 
advised it,” cried Ani. “That has been done a hundred 
times, and Ameni will regard me as a perjurer, for I have 
sworn not to attempt PentauFs life.” 


“ To be sure, thou hast sworn that, and men keep their 
word — to each other. Wait a moment, how would this ^ 
do? Let the ship reach Ohennu with the prisoners, but, j 
by a secret order to the captain, pass the quarries in the 
night, and hasten on as fast as possible as far as Ethiopia. 
From Suan,* the prisoners may be conducted through the ; 


* The modern Assuan at the first cataract. 


tJARDA. 


347 

desert to the gold workings.* Four weeks or even eight 
may pass before it is known here what has happened. If 
Ameni attacks thee about it, thou wilt be very angry at 
this oversight, and canst swear by all the gods of the 
heavens and of the abyss that thou hast not attempted 
Pentaur's life. More weeks will pass in inquiries. Mean- 
while do thy best, and Paaker do his, and thou art king. 
An oath is easily broken by a scepter, and if thou wilt 
positively keep thy word leave Pentaur at the gold mines 
None have yet returned from thence. My father's and 
my brother's bones have bleached there." 

“ But Ameni will never believe in the mistake," cried 
Ani, anxiously interrupting the witch. 

“ Then admit that thou gavest the order," exclaimed 
Hekt. “ Explain that thou hadst learned what they pro- 
posed doing with Pentaur at Chennu, and that thy word 
indeed was kept, but that a criminal could not be left un- 
punished. They will make further inquiries, and if Assa's 
grandson is found still living thou wilt be justified. Follow 
my advice, if thou wilt prove thyself a good steward of thy 
house, and master of its inheritance." 

“ It will not do," said the regent. “1 need Ameni's 
support — not for to-day and to-morrow only. I will not 
become his blind tool; but he must believe that I am." 

The old woman shrugged her shoulders, rose, went into 
her cave, and brought out a phial. 

“ Take this," she said. “ Four drops of it in his wine 
infallibly destroys the drinker's senses; try the drink on a 
slave, and thou wilt see how effectual it is." 

“ What shall I do with it?" asked Ani. 

“Justify thyself to Ameni," said the witch, laughing. 
“ Order the ship’s captain to come to thee as soon as he re- 
turns; entertain him with wine — and when Ameni sees the 
distracted wretch, why should he not believe that in a fit 
of craziness he sailed past Chennu?" 

“ That is clever! that is splendid!" exclaimed Ani. 
“ What is once remarkable never becomes common. You 


* The frightful fate of Egyptian miners is vividly presented in a 
famous passage of Agatharchides of Knidos, in Diodorus iii, 12, 13 
and 14. The Ethiopian gold mines were re-discovered in 1832-33 
by Bonomi and Linant Pasha, but they are now completely 
exhausted. 


348 


VARDA. 


were the greatest of singers — you are now the wisest of 
women — my lady Beki.” 

“ I am no longer Beki, lam Hekt,” said the old woman, 
shortly. 

“ As you will. In truth, if I had ever heard Beki’s 
singing, I should be bound to still greater gratitude to her 
than I now am to Hekt,” said Ani, smiling. “ Still, 
I cannot quit the wisest woman in Thebes without asking 
her one serious question. Is it given to you to read the 
future? Have you means at your command whereby you 
can see whether the great stake — you know which I mean — 
shall be won or lost?” 

Hekt looked at the ground, and said, after reflecting a 
short time: 

“ 1 cannot decide with certainty, but thy affair stands 
well. Look at those two hawks with the chain on their 
feet. They take their food from no one but me. The one 
that is moulting, with closed, gray eyelids, is Rameses; 
the smart, smooth one, with shining eyes, is thyself. It 
comes to this — which of you lives the longest. So far, 
thou hast the advantage.” 

Ani cast an evil glance at the king’s sick hawk; but 
Hekt said: “ Both must be treated exactly alike. Fate 
will not be done violence to.” 

“Feed them well,” exclaimed the regent; he threw a 
purse into Hekt’s lap, and added, as he prepared to leave 
her: “ If anything happens to either of the birds let me 
know at once by Nemu.” 

Ani went dowm the hill, and walked toward the neigh- 
boring tomb of his father; but Hekt laughed as she looked 
after him, and muttered to herself: 

“ Now the fool will take care of me for the sake of his 
bird! That smiling, spiritless, indolent-minded man would 
rule Egypt! Am I then so much wiser than other folks, 
or do none but fools come to consult Hekt? But Raineses 
chose Ani to represent him! perhaps because he thinks 
that those who are not particularly clever are not particu- 
larly dangerous. If that is what he thought, he was not 
wise, for no one usually is so self-confident and insolent as 
just such an idiot.” 


UARDA . 


349 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

An hour later, Ani, in rich attire, left his father’s tomb, 
and drove his brilliant chariot past the witch’s cave, and 
the little cottage of Uarda’s father. 

Nemu squatted on the step, the dwarf’s usual place. 
The little man looked down at the lately rebuilt hut, and 
ground his teeth, when, through an opening in the hedge, 
he saw the white robe of a man, who was sitting by 
Uarda. 

The pretty child’s visitor was Prince Rameri, who had 
crossed the Nile in the early morning, dressed as a young 
scribe of the treasury, to obtain news of Pentaur — and to 
stick a rose into Uarda’s hair. 

This purpose was, indeed, the more important of the two, 
for the other must, in point of time at any rate, be the 
second. 

He found it necessary to excuse himself to his own con- 
science with a variety of cogent reasons. In the first place 
the rose, which lay carefully secured in a fold of his robe, 
ran great danger of fading if he first waited for his com- 
panions near the temple of Seti; next, a hasty return from 
thence to Thebes might prove necessary; and finally, it 
seemed to him not impossible that Bent-Anat might send 
a master of the ceremonies after him, and if that hap- 
pened any delay might frustrate his purpose. 

His heart beat loud and violently, not for love of the 
maiden, but because he felt he was doing wrong. 

The spot that he must tread was unclean, and he had, 
for the first time, told a lie. He had given himself out to 
Uarda to be a noble youth of Bent-Anat’s train, and as 
■ one falsehood usually entails another, in answer to her 
questions he had given her false information as to his par- 
ents and his life. 

Had evil more power over him in this unclean spot 
than in the House of Seti, and at his father’s? It might 
very well be so, for all disturbance in nature and men was 
the work of Seth, and how wild was the storm in his 
breast! And yet! He wished nothing but good to come 
of it to Uarda. She was so fair and sweet — like some 
child of the gods: and certainly the white maiden must 


350 


UARDA. 


have been stolen from some one, and could not possibly 
belong to the unclean people. 

When the prince entered the court of the hut, Uarda 
was not to be seen, but he soon heard her voice singing out 
through the open door. She came out into the air, for 
the dog barked furiously at Earned. When she saw the 
prince, she started, and said: 

44 You are here already again, and yet I warned you. 
My grandmother in there is the wife of a paraschites.” 

“I am not come to visit her,” retorted the prince, “but 
you only; and you do not belong to them, of that I am 
convinced. No roses grow in the desert.” 

“And yet I am my father’s child,” said Uarda, de- 
cidedly, “and my poor dead grandfather’s grandchild. 
Certainly I belong to them, and those that do not think 
me good enough for them may keep away.” 

With these words she turned to re-enter the house; but 
Kameri seized her hand and held her back, saying: 

“How cruel you are! I tried to save you, and came to 
see you before I thought that you might — and, indeed, you 
are quite unlike the people whom you call your relations. 
You must not misunderstand me; but it would be horrible 
to me to believe that you, who are so beautiful, and as 
white as a lily, have any part in the hideous curse. You 
charm every one, even my mistress, Bent-Anat, and it 
seems to me impossible ” 

“ That I should belong to the unclean — say it out,” said 
Uarda, softly, and casting down her eyes. 

Then she continued more excitedly: “ But I tell you the 
curse is unjust, for a better man never lived than my grand- 
father was.” 

Tears sprang from her eyes, and Rameri said: “ I fully 
believe it; and it must be very difficult to continue good 
when every one despises and scorns one; I at least can be 
brought to no good by blame, though I can by praise. 
Certainly people are obliged to meet me and mine with 
respect.” 

“And us with contempt!” exclaimed Uarda. “But I 
will tell you something. If a man is sure that he is good, 
it is all the same to him whether he be despised or honored 
by other people. Nay, we may be prouder than you; for 
you great folks must often say to yourselves that you are 


UARDA. 


351 


worth less than men value you at, and we know that we are 
worth more." 

“ I have often thought that of you," exclaimed Rameri, 
“and there is one who recognizes your worth, and that is I. 
Even if it were otherwise, I must always— always think of 
you." 

“ I have thought of you too," said Uarda. “ Just now, 
when I was sitting with my sick grandmother, it passed 
through my mind how nice it would be if I had a brother 
just like you. Do you know what I should do if you were 
my brother?" 

“Well?" 

’“I should buy you a chariot and horse, and you should 
go away to the king’s war." 

“Are you so rich?" asked Rameri, smiling. 

“ Oh, yes!" answered Uarda. “ To be sure, I have not' 
been rich for more than an hour. Can you read?" 

“ Yes." 

“ Only think, when I was ill they sent a doctor to me 
from the House of Seti. He was very clever, but a strange 
man. He often looked into my eyes like a drunken man, 
and he stammered when he spoke." 

“ Is his name Nebsecht?" asked the prince. 

“ Yes, Nebsecht. He planned strange things with grand- 
father, and after Pentaur and you had saved us in the 
frightful attack upon us he interceded for us. Since then 
he has not come again, for I was already much better. Now 
to-day, about two hours ago, the dog barked, and an old 
man, a stranger, came tip to me and said he was Nebsecht’s 
brother, and had a great deal of money in his charge for 
me. He gave me a ring too, and said that he would pay 
the money to him who took the ring to him from me. 
Then he read this letter to me." 

Rameri took the letter and read: 

“ Nebsecht to the fair Uarda." 

“ Nebsecht greets Uarda, and informs her that he owed 
her grandfather in Osiris, Pinem — whose body the kol- 
ehytes are embalming like that of a noble — a sum of a 
thousand gold rings. These he has entrusted to bis 
brother Teta to hold ready for her at any moment. She 
may trust Teta entirely, for he is honest, and ask him for 
money whenever she needs it. It would be best that she 


352 


UARDA . 


should ask Teta to take care of the money for her, and to 
buy her a house and field; then she could remove into it, 
and live in it free from care with her grandmother. 
She may wait a year and then she may choose a husband. 
Nebsecht loves Uarda much. If at the end of thirteen 
months he has not been to see her, she had better marry 
Whom she will; but not before she has shown the jewel 
left her by her mother to the king’s interpreter. ” 

“ How strange!” exclaimed Rameri. “ Who would have 
given the singular physician, who always wore such dirty 
clothes, credit for such generosity ? But what is this 
jewel that you have?” 

Uarda opened her shirt, and showed the prince the 
sparkling ornament. 

“ Those are diamonds — it is very valuable!” cried the 
prince; “ and there in the middle on the onyx there are 
sharply engraved signs. I cannot read them, but I will 
show them to the interpreter. Did your mother wear 
that ?” 

“My father found it on her when she died,” said Uarda. 
“ She came to Egypt as a prisoner of Avar, and was as 
white as I am, but dumb, so she could not tell us the 
name of her home.” 

“ She belonged to some great house among the foreign- 
ers, and the children inherit from the mother,” cried the 
prince, joyfully. “You are a princess, Uarda! Oh, how 
glad I am, and how much I love you!” 

The girl smiled and said, “ Now you will not be afraid 
to touch the daughter of the unclean.” 

“You are cruel,” replied the prince. “Shall I tell 
you what I determined on yesterday — what Avould not let 
me sleep last night — and for what I came here to-day?” 

“Well?” 

Rameri took a most beautiful white rose out of his robe 
and said: 

“ It is very childish, but I thought how it Avould be if I 
might put this flower with my own hands into your shin- 
ing hair. May I?” 

“ It is a splendid rose! I never saw such a fine one.” 

“It is for my haughty princess. Do pray let me dress 
your hair! It is like silk from Tyre, like a swan’s breast, 
like golden star-beams — there, it is fixed safely ! Nay, 


UARDA. 


353 


leave it so. If the seven Hathors could see you, they 
would be jealous, for you are fairer than all of them.” 

“How you flatter !” said Uarda, shyly blushing, and 
looking into his sparkling eyes. 

“Uarda,” said the prince, pressing her hand to his 
heart. “ I have now but one wish. Feel how my heart 
hammers and beats. I believe it will never rest again till 
you — yes, Uarda— till you let me give you one, only one, 
kiss.” 

The girl drew back. 

“Now,” she said, seriously. “Now I see what you 
want. Old Hekt knows men, and she warned me.” 

“ Who is Hekt, and what can she know of me?” 

“ She told me that the time would come when a man 
would try to make friends with me. He would look into 
my eyes, and if mine met his, then he would ask to kiss 
me. But I must refuse him, because if I liked him to 
kiss me he would seize my soul, and take it from me, and 
I must wander, like the restless ghosts, which the abyss 
rejects, and the storm whirls before it, and the sea will not 
cover, and the sky will not receive, soulless to the end of 
my days. Go away — for I cannot refuse you the kiss, and 
yet I would not wander restless, and without a soul!” 

“Is the old woman who told you that a good woman?” 
asked Kameri. 

Uarda shoook her head. 

“ Then it cannot be true,” cried the prince. “ Then 
she has spoken a falsehood. I will not seize your soul; I 
will give you mine to be yours, and you shall give me yours 
to be mine, and so we shall neither of us be poorer — but 
both richer!” 

“ I should like to believe it,” said Uarda, thoughtfully, 
“and I have thought the same kind of thing. When I 
was strong, I often had to go late in the evening to fetch 
water from the landing-place where the great water-wheel 
stands. Thousands of drops fall from the earthenware 
pails as it turns, and in each you can see the reflection of a 
moon, yet there is only one in the sky. Then I thought 
to myself, so it must be with the love in our hearts. We 
have but one heart, and yet we pour it out into other 
hearts without its losing in strength or in warmth. I 
thought of my grandmother, of my father, of little 


354 


UARDA. 


Scher.au, of the gods, and of Pentaur. Now I should like 
to give you a part of it too.” 

“ Only a part?” asked Rameri. 

“ Well, the whole will be reflected in you, you know,” 
said Uarda, “ as the whole moon is reflected in each drop.” 

“It shall!” cried the prince, clasping the trembling girl 
in his arms, and the two young souls were united in their 
first kiss. 

“ Now do go!” Uarda entreated. 

“Let me stay a little while,” said Rameri. “Sit down 
here by me on the bench in front of the house. The 
hedge shelters us, and besides this valley is now deserted, 
and there are no passers-by.” 

“ We are doing what is not right,” said Uarda. “ If it 
were right we should not want to hide ourselves.” 

“Do you call that wrong which the priests perform in 
the holy of holies?” asked the prince. “ And yet it is 
concealed from all eyes.” 

“How you can argue!” laughed Uarda. “ That shows 
you can write, and are one of his disciples.” 

“ His, his!” exclaimed Rameri. “You mean Pentaur. 
He was always the dearest to me of all my teachers, but it 
vexes me when you speak of him as if he were more to 
you than I and every one else. The poet, you said, was 
one of the drops in which the moon of your soul finds a 
reflection— and I will not divide it with many.” 

“ How you are talking!” said Uarda. “ Do you not 
honor your father, and the gods? I love no one else as I 
do you — and what I felt when you kissed me — that was not 
like moonlight, but like this hot midday sun. When I 
thought of you I had no peace. I will confess to you now, 
that twenty times I looked out of the door and asked 
whether my preserver — the kind, curly-headed boy — would 
really comepagain, or whether he despised a poor girl like 
me? You came, and I am so happy, and I could enjoy 
myself with you to my heart’s content. Be kind again — or 
I will pull your hair!” 

“You!” cried Rameri. “You cannot hurt with your 
little hands, though you can with your tongue. Pentaur 
is much wiser and better than I, you owe much to him, 
and nevertheless I ” 

“ Let that rest,” interrupted the girl, growing grave. 


UARDA> 


355 


“ He is not a man like other men. If he asked to kiss me, 

I should crumble into dust, as ashes dried in the sun 
crumble if you touch them with a finger, and I should be 
as much afraid of his lips as of a lion's. Though you may 
laugh at it, I shall always believe that he is one of the im- 
mortals. His own father told me that a great wonder was 
shown to him the very day after his birth. Old Hekt has 
often sent me to the gardener with a message to inquire 
after his son, and though the man is rough he is kind. At 
first he was not friendly, but when he saw how much I 
liked his flowers he grew fond of me, and set me to work 
to tie wreaths and bunches, and to carry them to his cus- 
tomers. As we sat together, laying the flowers side by 
side, he constantly told me something about his son, and 
his beauty, and goodness, and wisdom. When he was 
quite a little boy he could write poems, and he learned to 
read before any one had shown him how. The high-priest 
Ameni heard of it and took him to the House of Seti, and 
there he improved, to the astonishment of the gardener; 
not long after I went through the garden with the old man. 
He talked of Pentaur as usual, and then stood still before 
a noble shrub with broad leaves, and said, * My son is like 
this plant, which has grown up close to me, and I know * 
not how. I laid the seed in the soil, with others that I 
bought over there in Thebes; no one knows where it came 
from, and yet it is my own. It certainly is not a native 
of Egypt; and is not Pentaur as high above me and his 
mother and his brothers as this shrub is above the other 
flowers? We are all small and bony, and he is tall and 
slim; our skin is dark and his is rosy; our speech is hoarse, 
,his as sweet as a song. I believe he is a child of the gods 
that the immortals have laid in my homely house. Who 
knows their decrees?' And then I often saw Pentaur at 
the festivals, and asked myself which of the other priests 
of the temple came near him in height and dignity? I 
took him for a god, and when I saw him who saved my 
life overcome a whole mob with superhuman strength, 
must I not regard him as a superior being? I look up to 
him as to one of them; but I could never look in his eyes 
as I do in yours. It would not make my blood flow faster; 
it would freeze it in my veins. How can I say what I 
mean! my soul looks straight out, and it finds you; but to 


356 


UARDA. 


find him it must look up to the heavens. You are a fresh 
rose-garland with which I crown myself — he is a sacred 
persea-tree* before which I bow.” 

Rameri listened to her in silence, and then said, “ I am 
still young, and have done nothing yet, but the time 
shall come in which you shall look up to me too as 
to a tree, not perhaps a sacred tree, but as to a syca- 
more under whose shade we love to rest. I am no longer 

gay; I will leave you, for I have a serious duty to fulfill. 

Pentaur is a complete man, and I will be one too. But 
you shall be the rose-garland to grace me. Men who can 
be compared to flowers disgust me!” 

The prince rose and offered Uarda his hand. 

“ You have a strong hand,” said the girl. “You will 
be a noble man, and work for good and great ends ; 

only look, my fingers are quite red with being held so 

tightly. But they too are not quite useless. They have 
never done anything very hard certainly, but what they 
tend flourishes, and grandmother says they are Mucky/ 
Look at the lovely lilies and the pomegranate bush in that 
corner. Grandfather brought the earth here from the 
Nile, Pentaur’s father gave me the seeds, and each little 
plant that ventured to show a green shoot through the 
soil I sheltered and nursed and watered, though I had to 
fetch the water in my little pitcher, till it was vigorous, and 
thanked me with flowers. Take this pomegranate flower. 
It is the first my tree has borne; and it is very strange, 
when the bud first began to lengthen and swell my grand- 
mother said, * Now your heart will soon begin to bud and 
love.’ I know now what she meant, and both the first 
flowers belong to you — the red one here off the tree, and 
the other, which you cannot see, but which glows as 
brightly as this does.” 

Rameri pressed the scarlet blossom to his lips, and 
stretched out his hand toward Uarda; but she shrank back, 
for a little figure slipped through an opening in the 
hedge. 

It was Scherau. 

His pretty little face glowed with his quick run, and his 
breath was gone. For a few minutes he tried in vain for 
words, and looked anxiously at the prince. 


* Persea, probably Balanistes iEgyptiaca. 


UARDA. 




357 

Uarda saw that something unusual agitated him; she 
spoke to him kindly, saying that if he wished to speak to 
her alone he need not be afraid of Rameri, for he was her 
best friend. 

“ But it does not concern you and me/’ replied the 
child, “but the good, holy father Pentaur, who was so 
kind to me, and who saved your life.” 

“I am a great friend of Pentaur,” said the prince. “Is 
it not true, Uarda? He may speak with confidence before 
me.” 

“I may?” said Scherau, “ that is well. I have slipped 
away; Hekt may come back at any moment, and if she 
sees that I have taken myself off I shall get a beating and 
nothing to eat.” 

“ Who is this horrible Hekt ?” asked Rameri, indig- 
nantly. 

“ That Uarda can tell you by-and-by,” said the little 
one, hurriedly. “ Now only listen. She laid me on my 
board in the cave, and threw a sack over me, and first came 
Nemu, and then another man, whom she spoke to as ‘ Stew- 
ard/ She talked to him a long time. At first I did not 
listen, but then I caught the.name of Pentaur, and I got 
my head out, and now I understand it all. The steward de- 
clared that the good Pentaur was wicked, and stood in his 
way, and he said that Ameni was going to send him to the 
quarries at Ohennu, but that was much too small a punish- 
ment. Then Hekt advised him to give a secret commis- 
sion to the captain ^of the ship to go beyond Chennu, to 
the frightful mountain-mines, of which she has often told 
me, for her father and her brother were tormented to 
death there.” 

“None ever return from thence,” said the prince. 
“ But go on.” 

“ What came next, I only half understood, but they 
spoke of some drink that makes people mad. Oh! what I 
see and hear! I would lie contentedly on my board all my 
life long, but all else is too horrible — I wish that I were 
dead.” 

And the child began to cry bitterly. 

Uarda, whose cheeks had turned pale, patted him affec- 
tionately; but Rameri exclaimed: 

“ It is frightful! unheard of! But who was the steward? 


358 


tJARDA. 


did you not hear his name? Collect yourself, little man, 
and stop crying. It is a case of life and death. Who was 
the scoundrel? Did she not name him. Try to remem- 
ber.” 

Scherau bit his red lips, and tried for composure. His 
tears ceased, and suddenly he exclaimed, as he put his 
hand into the breast of his ragged little garment, “ Stay, 
perhaps you will know him again — I made him!” 

“ You did what?” asked the prince. 

i( 1 made him,” repeated the little artist, and he care- 
fully brought out an object wrapped up in a scrap of rag. 

“ I could see his head quite clearly from one side all the 
time he was speaking, and my clay lay by me. I always 
must model something when my mind is excited, and 
this time I quickly made his face, and as the image was 
successful, I kept it about me to show to the master when • 
Hekt was out.” 

While he spoke he had carefully unwrapped the figure 
with trembling fingers, and had given it to Uarda. 

“Ani!” cried the prince. “ He, and no other! Who 
could have thought it? What spite has he against Pentaur? 
What is the priest to him?” 

For a moment he reflected, then life struck his hand 
against his forehead. 

“ Fool that I am!” he exclaimed, vehemently. “ Child 
that I am! of course, of course; I see it all. Ani asked for 
Bent-Anat's hand, and she — now that I love you, Uarda, I 
understand what ails her. Away with deceit! I will tell 
you no more lies, Uarda. I am no page of honor to Bent- 
Anat ; I am her brother, and King Raineses' own son. 
Do not cover your face with your hands, Uarda, for if I 
had not seen your mother's jewel, and if I were not only a 
pl’ince, but Horus himself, the son of Isis, I must have 
loved you, and would not have given you up. But now 
other' things have to be done besides lingering with 
you ; now I will show you that I am a man, now that 
Pentaur is to be saved. Farewell, Uarda, and think of 
me!” 

He would have hurried off, but Scherau held him by the 
robe, and said, timidly: “ Thou sayst thou art Rameses' 
son Hekt spoke of him too. She compared him to our 
moulting hawk.” 


VARDA . 


359 

“ She shall soon feel the talons of the royal eagle,” cried 
Rameri. “Once more, farewell!” 

He gave Uarda his hand, she pressed it passionately to 
her lips, but he drew it away, kissed her forehead, and was 
gone. 

The maiden looked after him pale and speechless. 

She saw another man hastening toward her, and recog- 
nizing him as her father, she went quickly to meet him. 
Ihe soldier had come to take leave of her; he had to escort 
some prisoners. 

“To Chennu?” asked Uarda. 

“ Ho, to the north,” replied the man. 

His daughter now related what she had heard, and 
asked whether lie could help the priest, who had saved 
her. 

“If I had money, if I had money!” muttered the soldier 
to himself. 

“We have some,” cried Uarda; she told him of Neb- 
secht’s gift,* and said: “Take me over the Nile, and in 
two hours you will have enough to make a man rich. 
But no; I cannot leave my sick grandmother. You your- 
self take the ring, and remember that Pentaur is being 
punished for having dared to protect us.” 

“ 1 remember it,” said the soldier. “ I have but one 
life, but I will willingly give it to save his. I cannot de- 
vise schemes, but I know something, and if it succeeds he 
need not go to the gold mines. I will put the wine-flask 
aside; give me a drink of water, for the next few hours 1 
must keep a sober head.” 

“ There is the water, and I will pour in a mouthful of 
wine. Will you come back and bring me news?” 

“ That will not do, for we set sail at midnight, but if 
some one returns to you with the ring you will know that 
what I propose has succeeded.” 

Uarda went into the hut, her father followed her; he 
took leave of his sick mother and of his daughter. When 


*It may be observed that among tbe Egyptians women were quali- 
fied to own and dispose of property. For example a papyrus (VII) 
in tbe Louvre contains an agreement between Asklepias (called 
Senimutkis), tbe daughter or maid - servant of a corpse-dresser of 
Tbebes, who is tbe debtor, and Arsiesis, tbe creditor, tbe son of a 
kolcbytes; both, therefore, are of tbe same rank as Uarda. 


360 


TJAUBA. 


they went out of doors again, he said: “ You have to live 
on the princess’ gift till I return, and I do not want half 
of the physician’s present. But where is your pomegran- 
ate blossom?” 

“ I have picked it and preserved it in a safe place.” 

“ Strange things are women!” muttered the bearded | 
man; he tenderly kissed his child’s forehead, and returned ! 
to the Nile down the road by which he had come. 

The prince meanwhile had hurried on, and inquired in 
the harbor of the Necropolis where the vessel destined for 
Chennu was lying — for the ships loaded with prisoners 
were accustomed to sail from this side of the river, start- 
ing at night. Then he was ferried over the river, and 
hastened to Bent-Anat. He found her and Nefert in un- ; 
usual excitement, for the faithful chamberlain had learned 
—through some friends of the king in Ani’s suite — that 
the regent had kept back all the letters intended for Syria, 
and among them those of the royal family. 

A lord in waiting, who was devoted to the king, had 
been encouraged by the chamberlain to communicate to 
Bent-Anat other things, which hardly allowed any doubts 
as to the ambitious projects of her uncle; she was also ex- • 
horted to be on her guard with Nefert, whose mother was 
the confidential adviser of the regent. 

Bent-Anat smiled at this warning, and sent at once a 
message to Ani to inform him that she was ready to un- 
dertake the pilgrimage to the “ Emerald-Hathor,” and to i 
be purified in the sanctuary of that goddess. 

She purposed sending a message to her father from 
thence, and if he permitted it, joining him at the camp. 

She imparted this plan to her friend, and Nefert thought 
any road the best that would take her to her husband. 

Kameri was soon initiated into all this, and in return he ; 
told them all he had learned, and let Bent-Anat guess j 
that he had read her secret. 

So dignified, so grave, were the conduct and the speech ' 
of the boy who had so lately been an overbearing madcap, 
that Bent-Anat thought to herself that the danger of their 
house had suddenly ripened a boy into a man. 

She had in fact no objection to raise to his arrange- j 
ments. He proposed to travel after sunset, with a few 


UARDA. 


361 

1 faithful servants on swift horses as far as Keffc,* and from 
thence ride fast across the desert to the Red Sea, where 
they could take a Phoenician ship, and sail to Aila.f 
From thence they would cross the peninsula of Sinai, and 
strive to reach the Egyptian army by forced marches, and 
make the king acquainted with Ani's criminal attempts. 

To Bent-Anat was given the task of rescuing Pentaur, 
with the help of the faithful chamberlain. 

Money was fortunately not wanting, as the high treasurer 
was on their side. All depended on their inducing the 
captain to stop at Chennu; the poet's fate would there, at 
the worst, be endurable. At the same time, a trustworthy 
messenger was- to be sent to the governor of Chennu, com- 
manding him in the name of the king to detain every ship 
that might pass the narrows of Chennu by night, and to 
prevent any of the prisoners that had been condemned to 
the quarries from being smuggled on to Ethiopia. 

Rameri took leave of the two women, and lie succeeded 
in leaving Thebes unobserved. 

Bent-Anat knelt in prayer before the images of her 
mother in Osiris, of Hathor, and of the guardian gods of 
her house, till the chamberlain returned, and told her that 
he had persuaded the captain of the ship to stop at Chennu, 
and to conceal from Ani that he had betrayed his charge. 

The princess breathed more freely, for she had come to 
a resolution that if the chamberlain had failed in his mis- 
sion, she would cross over to the Necropolis, forbid the 
departure of the vessel, and in the last extremity rouse the 
people, -who were devoted to her, against Ani. 

The following morning the lady Katuti craved permis- 
sion of the princess to see her daughter. Bent-Anat did 
not show herself to the widow, whose efforts failed to keep 
her daughter from accompanying the princess on her 
journey, or to induce her to return home. Angry and 
uneasy, the indignant mother hastened to Ani, and 
implored him to keep Nefert at home by force; but the 
fegent wished to avoid attracting attention, and to let 
Bent-Anat set out with a feeling of complete security. 

“Do not be uneasy," he said. “I will give the ladies a 
trustworthy escort, who will keep them at the sanctuary 


*Koptos, now Qeft on the Nile. fNow Aqaba. 


362 


UARDA. 


of the ‘ Ernerald-Hathor ’ till all is settled. There you 
can deliver Nefert to Paaker, if you still like to have him 
for a son-in-law after hearing several things that I have 
learned. As for me, in the end I may induce my haughty 
niece to look up instead of down; I may be her second 
love, though for that matter she certainly is not my first.” 

On the following day the princess set out. 

Ani took leave of her with kindly formality, which she 
returned with coolness. The priesthood of the temple of 
Amon, with old Bek-en-Chunsu at their head, escorted her 
to the harbor. The people on the banks shouted Bent- 
Anat's name with a thousand blessings, but many insulting 
words were to be heard also. 

The pilgrim's Nile-boat was followed by two others, full 
of soldiers, who accompanied the ladies “ to protect them.” 

The south wind filled the sails and carried the little pro- 
cession swiftly down the stream. The princess looked now 
toward the palace of her fathers, now toward the tombs 
and temples of the Necropolis. At last even the colossus 
of Amenophis disappeared, and the last houses of Thebes. 
The brave maiden sighed deeply, and tears rolled down 
her cheeks. She felt as if she were flying after a lost 
battle, and yet not wholly discouraged, but hoping for 
future victory. As she turned to go to the cabin a veiled 
girl stepped up to her, took the veil from her face, and 
said: 

“ Pardon me, princess; I am Uarda, whom thou didst 
run over, and to whom thou hast since been so good. My 
grandmother is dead, and I am quite alone. I slipped in 
among thy maid-servants, for I wish to follow thee and to ' 
obey all thy commands. Only do not send me away.” 

“ Stay, dear child,” said the princess, laying her hand 
on her hair. 

Then, struck by its wonderful beauty, she remembered 
her brother, and his wish to place a rose in Uarda's shining 
tresses. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Two months had passed since Bent-Anat’s departure 
from 'Thebes and the imprisonment of Pentaur. 

Ant-Baba is the name of the valley, in the western half 


XJARDA. 


363 


of the peninsula of Sinai, through which a long procession 
of human beings, and of beasts of burden, wended their 
way. 

It was winter, and yet the midday sun sent down glow- 
ing rays, which were reflected from the naked rocks. In 
front of the caravan marched a company of Libyan soldiers 
and another brought up the rear. Each man was armed 
with a dagger and battle-ax, a shield and a lance, and was 
ready to use his weapons; for those whom they were escort- 
ing were prisoners from the emerald mines, who had been 
convoyed to the shores of the Red Sea to carry thither the 
produce of the mines, and had received, as a return load, 
provisions which had arrived from Egypt, and which were 
to be carried to the store-houses of the mountain mines. 
Bent and panting, they made their way along. Each pris- 
oner had a copper chain riveted round his ankles, and torn 
rags hanging round their loins were the only clothing of 
these unhappy beings, who, gasping under the weight of 
the sacks they had to carry, kept their staring eyes fixed 
on the 'ground. If one of them threatened to sink 
altogether under his burden, he was refreshed by the whip 
of one of the horsemen, who accompanied the caravan. 
Many a one found it hard to choose whether he could best 
endure the sufferings of mere endurance, or the torture of 
the lash. 

No one spoke a word, neither the prisoners nor their 
guards; and even those who were flogged did not cry out, 
for their powers were exhausted, and in the souls of their 
drivers there was no more impulse of pity than there was a 
green herb on the rocks by the way. This melancholy 
procession moved silently onward, like a procession of 
phantoms, and the ear was only made aware of it when 
now and then a low groan broke from one of the 
victims. 

The sandy path, trodden by their naked feet, gave no 
sound, the mountains seemed to withhold their shade, the 
light of day was a torment — everything far and near 
seemed inimical to the living. Not a plant, not a creep- 
ing thing, showed itself against the weird forms of the 
barren gray and brown rocks, and no soaring bird 
tempted the oppressed wretches to raise their eyes to 
heaven. 


364 


VARDA. 


In the noontide heat of the previous day they had 
started with their loads from the harbor-creek. For two 
hours they had followed the shore of the glistening, blue- 
green sea,* then they had climbed a rocky shoulder and 
crossed a small plateau. They had paused for their night’s 
rest in the gorge which led to the mines; the guides and 
soldiers lighted fires, grouped themselves round them, 
and lay down to sleep under the shelter of a cleft in the 
rocks; the prisoners stretched themselves on the earth in 
the middle of the valley without any shelter, and shiver- 
ing with the cold which suddenly succeeded the glowing 
heat of the day. The benumbed wretches now looked for- 
ward to the crushing misery of the morning’s labor as 
eagerly as, a few hours since, they had longed for the 
night, and for rest. 

Lentil-broth and hard bread in abundance, but a very 
small quantity of water, was given to them before they start- 
ed; then they set out through the gorge, which grew hotter 
and hotter, and through ravines where they could pass only 
one by one. Every now and then it seemed as if the path 
came to an end, but each time it found an outlet, and went 
on — as endless as the torment of the wayfarers. 

Mighty walls of rock composed the view, looking as if 
they were formed of angular masses of hewn stone piled up 
in rows; and of all the miners one, and one only, had 
eyes for these curious structures of the ever various hand 
of nature. 

This one had broader shoulders than his companions, 
and his burden weighed on him comparatively lightly. 

“In this solitude,” thought he, “which repels man, and 
forbids his passing his life here, the Chennu, the laborers 
who form the world, have spared themselves the trouble 
of filling up the seams, and rounding off the corners. 
How is it that man should have dedicated this hideous 
land — in which even human heart seems to be hardened 
against all pity — to the merciful Hathor? Perhaps because 


* Tlie Red Sea — in Hebrew and Coptic the reedy sea — is of a 
lovely blue - green color. According to the ancients it was named 
red either from its red banks or from the Erythrseans, who 
were called the red people. On an early inscription it is called 
“ the water of the Red country.” See “ Durch Gosen zum Sinai.” 


TTARDA. 


365 


it so sorely stands in need of joy and peace which the 
loving goddess alone can bestow.” 

“ Keep the line, Huni!” shouted a driver. 

The man thus addressed closed up to the next man, 
the panting leech Nebsecht. We know the other stronger 
prisoner. It is Pentaur, who had been entered as Huni on 
the lists of mine-laborers, and was called by that name. 
The file moved on; at every step the ascent grew more 
rugged. Bed and black fragments of stone, broken as 
small as if by the hand of man, lay in great heaps, 
or strewed the path which led up the almost perpendicu- 
lar cliff by imperceptible degrees. Here another gorge 
opened before them, and this time there seemed to be no 
outlet. 

“Load the asses less!” cried the captain of the escort to 
the prisoners. Then he turned to the soldiers, and ordered 
them, when the beasts were eased, to put the extra burdens 
on the men. Putting forth their utmost strength, the 
overloaded men labored up the steep and hardly distinguish- 
able mountain path. 

The man in front of Pentaur, a lean old man, when half 
way up the hill-side, fell in a heap under his load, and a 
driver, who in the narrow defile could not reach the bear- 
ers, threw a stone at him to urge him to a renewed effort. 

The old man cried out at the blow, and at the cry — the 
paraschites stricken down with stones — his own struggle 
with the mob — and the appearance of Bent-Anat flashed 
into PeutauPs memory. Pity and a sense of his own 
healthy vigor prompted him to energy; he hastily snatched 
the sack from the shoulders of the old man, threw it over 
his own, helped up the fallen wretch, and finally men and 
beasts succeeded in mounting the rocky wall. 

The pulses throbbed in Pentaur’s temples, and he shud- 
dered with horror as he looked down from the height of 
the pass into the abyss below, and round upon the count- 
less pinnacles and peaks, cliffs and precipices, in many col- 
ored rocks — white and gray, sulphurous yellow, blood-red 
and ominous black. He recalled the sacred lake of Muth 
in Thebes, round which sat a hundred statues of the lion- 
headed goddess in black, each on a pedestal; and the rocky 
peaks, which surrounded the valley at his feet, seemed to 
put on a semblance of life and to move and open their 


366 


UARDA. 


yawning jaws; through the wild rush of blood in his ears 
he fancied he heard them roar, and the load beyond his 
strength which he carried gave him a sensation as though 
their clutch was on his breast. 

Nevertheless he reached the goal. 

The other prisoners flung their loads from their shoul- 
ders, and threw themselves down to rest. Mechanically he 
did the same; his pulses beat more calmly, by degrees the 
visions faded from his senses, he saw and heard once more, 
and his brain recovered its balance. The old man and 
Nebsecht were lying beside him. 

His gray-haired companion rubbed the swollen veins in 
his neck, and called down all the blessings of the gods 
upon his head; but the captain of the caravan cut him 
short, exclaiming: 

You have strength for three, Huni ; further on, we 
will load you more heavily.” 

“ How much the kindly gods care for our prayers for 
the blessings of others!” exclaimed Nebsecht. “How 
well they know how to reward a good action!” 

“I am rewarded enough,” said Pentaur, looking kindly 
at the old man. “ But you, you everlasting scoffer — you 
look pale. How do you feel?” 

“As if I. were one of those donkeys there,” replied the 
naturalist. “ My knees shake like theirs, and I think 
and I wish neither more nor less than they do; that is to 
say — I would we were in our stalls.” 

“If you can think,” said Pentaur, smiling, “you are 
not so very bad.” 

“ I had a good thought just now, when you were staring 
up into the sky. The intellect, says the priestly sages, is 
a vivifying breath of the eternal spirit, and our soul is the 
mold or core for the mass of matter which we call a 
human being. I sought the spirit at first in the heart, 
then in the brain; but now I know that it resides in the 
arms and legs, for when I have strained them I find 
thought is impossible. I am too tired to enter on further 
evidence, but for the future I shall treat my legs with the 
utmost consideration.”. 

“ Quarreling again you two ? On again, men !” cried 
the driver. 

The weary wretches rose slowly, the beasts were loaded, 


UARDA. 367 

and on went the pitiable procession, so as to reach the 
mines before sunset. 

The destination of the travelers was a wide valley, 
closed in by two high and rocky jnountain-slopes; it was 
called Ta Mafka by the Egyptians, Dophka by the He- 
brews. The southern cliff-wall consisted of dark granite, 
the northern of red sandstone; in a distant branch of the 
valley lay the mines in which copper was found. In the 
midst of the valley rose a hill surrounded by a wall, and 
crowned with small stone houses, for the guard, the 
officers, and the overseers. According to the old regula- 
tions, they were without roofs, but as many deaths and 
much sickness had occurred among the workmen "in con- 
sequence of the cold nights, they had been slightly shel- 
tered with palm-branches brought from the oasis of the 
Amalekites, at no great distance. 

On the uttermost peak of the hill, where it was most 
exposed to the wind, were the smelting furnaces, and a 
manufactory where a peculiar green glass was prepared, 
which was brought into the market under the name of 
Mafkat, that is to say, emerald. The genuine precious 
stone was found further to the south, on the western shore 
of the Red Sea, and was highly prized in Egypt. 

Oilr friends had already for more than a month belonged 
to the mining community of the Mafkat valley, and Pen- 
taur had never learned how it was that he had been 
brought hither with his companion Nebsecht, instead of 
going to the sandstone quarries of Chennu. 

That Uarda's father had effected this change was beyond 
a doubt, and the poet trusted the rough but honest sol- 
dier who still kept near him, and gave him credit for the 
best intentions, although he had only spoken to him once 
since their departure from Thebes. 

That was the first night, when he had come up to Pen- 
taur, and whispered: “ I am looking after you. You will 
find the physician Nebsecht here; but treat each other as 
enemies rather than as friends, if you do not wish to be 
parted.” 

Pentaur had communicated the soldier's advice to Neb- 
secht, and he had followed it in his own way. 

It afforded him a secret pleasure to see how Pentaur's 
life contradicted the belief in a just and beneficent order- 


368 


UARDA . 


ing of the destinies of men; and the more he and the poet 
were oppressed, the more bitter was the irony, often 
amounting to extravagance, with which the- mocking 
sceptic attacked him. 

He loved Pentaur, for the poet had in his keeping the 
key which alone could give admission to the beautiful 
world which lay locked up in his own soul; but yet it was 
easy to him, if he thought they were observed, to play his 
part, and to overwhelm Pentaur with words, which, to the 
drivers, were devoid of meaning, and which made them 
laugh by the strange blundering fashion in which he stam- 
mered them out. 

“ A belabored husk of the divine self-consciousness.” 
“An advocate of righteousness hit on the mouth.” “A 
juggler who makes as much of this worst of all possible 
worlds as if he were the best.” “ An admirer of the lovely 
color of his blue bruises.” These and other terms of in- 
vective, intelligible only to himself and his butt, he could 
always pour out in new combinations, exciting Pentaur to 
sharp and often witty rejoinders, equally unintelligible to 
the uninitiated. 

Frequently their sparring took the form of a serious dis- 
cussion, which served a double purpose; first their minds, 
accustomed to serious thought, found exercise in spite of 
the murderous pressure of the burden of forced labor; and 
secondly, they were supposed really to be enemies. They 
slept in the same court-yard, and contrived, now and then, 
to exchange a few words in secret; but by day Nebsecht 
worked in the turquoise diggings, and Pentaur in the 
mines, for the careful chipping of the precious stones from 
their stony matrix was the work best suited to the slight 
physician, while Pentaur’s giant strength was fitted for 
hewing the ore out of the hard rock. The drivers often 
looked in surprise at his powerful strokes, as he flung his 
pick against the stone. 

The stupendous images that in such moments of wild 
energy rose before the poet’s soul, the fearful or enchant- 
ing tones that rang in his spirit’s ear — none could guess at. 

Usually his excited fancy showed him the form of Bent- 
Anat, surrounded by a host of men — and these he seemed 
to fell to the earth, one by one, as he hewed the rock. Often 
in the middle of his work he would stop, throw down his 


UARDA. 


369 


pick-ax, and spread out his arms — but only to drop them 
with a deep groan, and wipe the sweat from his brow. 

The overseers did not know what to think of this power- 
ful youth, who often was as gentle as a child, and then 
seemed possessed by that demon to which so many of the 
convicts fell victims. He had indeed become a riddle to 
himself; for how was it that he — the gardener’s son, brought 
up in the peaceful temple of Seti — ever since that night by 
the house of the paraschites had had such a perpetual crav- 
ing for conflict and struggle? 

The weary gangs were gone to rest; a bright fire still 
blazed in front of the house of the superintendent of the 
mines, and round it squatted in a circle the overseers and 
the subalterns of the troops. 

“ Put the wine-jar round again,” said the captain, “for 
we must hold grave council. Yesterday I had orders from 
the regent to send half the guard to Pelusium. He 
requires soldiers, but we are so few in number that if the 
convicts knew it they might make short work of us, even 
without arms. There are stones enough hereabouts, and 
by day they have their hammer and chisel.* Things are 
worse among the Hebrews in the copper mines; they are a 
refractory crew that must be held tight. You know me 
well, fear is unknown to me — but I feel great anxiety. The 
last fuel is now burning in this fire, and the smelting 
furnaces and the glass foundry must not stand idle. To- 
morrow we must send men to Raphidirn to obtain charcoal 
from the Amalekites. They owe us a hundred loads 
still. Load the prisoners with some copper, to make them 
tired and the natives civil. What can we do to procure 
what we want, and yet not to weaken the forces here too 
much?” 

Various opinions were given, and at last it was settled 
that a small division, guarded by a few soldiers, should 
be sent out every day to supply only the daily need for 
charcoal. 

It was suggested that the most dangerous of the con- 
victs should be fettered together in pairs to perform their 
duties. 

The superintendent was of opinion that two strong men 


* The chisels were in the shape of swallow-tails, 


370 


UARDA. 


fettered together would be more to be feared if only they 
acted in concert. « 

“ Then chain a strong one to a weak one,” said the 
chief accountant of the mines, whom the Egyptians called 
the “ scribe of the metals.” “And fetter those together 
who are enemies.” 

“The colossal Huni, for instance, to that pony sparrow, 
the stuttering Nebsecht,” said a subaltern. 

“ I was thinking of that very couple,” said the account- 
ant, laughing. 

Three other couples were selected, at first with some 
laughter, but finally with serious consideration, and 
Uarda’s father was sent with the drivers as an escort. 

On the following morning Pentaur and Nebsecht were 
fettered together with a copper chain, and when the sun 
was at its height four pairs of prisoners, heavily loaded 
with copper, set out for the oasis of the Amalekites, accom- 
panied by six soldiers and the son of the paraschit^s, to 
fetch fuel for the smelting furnaces. 

They rested near the town of Alus, and then went for- 
ward again between bare walls of grayish-green and red 
porphyry. These cliffs rose higher and higher, but from 
time to time, above the lower range, they could see the 
rugged summit of some giant of the range, though, 
bowed under their heavy loads, they paid small heed 
to it. 

The sun was near setting when they reached the little 
sanctuary of the “ Emerald- Hathor.” 

A few gray and black birds here flew toward them, and 
Pentaur gazed at them with delight. 

How long he had missed the sight of a bird, and the 
sound of their chirp and song! Nebsecht said: “There 
are some birds — we must be near water.” 

And there stood the first palm tree! 

Now the murmur of a brook was perceptible, and its 
tiny sound touched the thirsty souls of the travelers as 
rain falls on dry grass. 

On the left bank of the stream an encampment of Egypt- 
ian soldiers formed a large semicircle, inclosing three 
large tents made of costly material striped with blue and 
white, and woven with gold thread. Nothing was to be 
seen of the inhabitants of these tents, but when the pris- 


UARDA. 


371 


oners had passed them, and the drivers were exchanging 
greetings with the outposts, a girl in the long robe of an 
Egyptian came toward them, and looked at them. 

Pentaur started as if he had seen a ghost; but Nebsecht 
gave expression to his astonishment in a loud cry. 

At the same instant a driver laid his whip across their 
shoulders, and cried, laughing: 

“You may hit each other as hard as you like with 
words, but not with your hands.” 

Then he turned to his companions, and said: “Did you 
see the pretty girl there, in front of the tent?” 

“ It is nothing to us!” answered the man he addressed. 
“She belongs to the princess’ train. She has been three 
weeks here on a visit to the holy shrine of Hathor.” 

“ She must have committed some heavy sin,” replied 
the other. “If she were one of us, she would have been 
set to sift sand in the diggings, or grind colors, and not be 
living here in a gilt tent. Where is our red-beard?” 

Uarda’s father had lingered a little behind the party, 
for the girl had signed to him, and exchanged a few words 
with him. 

“ Have you still an eye for the fair ones?” asked the 
youngest of the drivers when he rejoined the gang. 

“ She is a waiting-maid of the princess,” replied the 
soldier, not without embarrassment. “To-morrow morn- 
ing we are to carry a letter from her to the scribe of the 
mines, and if we encamp in the neighborhood she will send 
us some wine for carrying it.” 

“ The old red-beard scents wine as a fox scents a goose. 
Let us encamp here; one never knows what may be had 
among the Mentu, and the superintendent said we were to 
encamp outside the oasis. Put down your sacks, men. 
Here there is fresh w r ater, and perhaps a few dates and 
sweet Manna* for you to eat with it. But keep the peace, 
you two quarrelsome fellows — Huni and Nebsecht.” 

Bent-Anat’s journey to the Emerald- Hathor was long 
since ended. As far as Keft she had sailed down the Nile 
with her escort, from thence she had crossed the desert by 

* “ Man ” is tlie name still given by the Bedouins of Sinai to the 
sweet gum which exudes from the Tamarix mannifera. It is the 
result of the puncture of an insect, and occurs chiefly in May. By 
many it is supposed to be the Manna of the Bible, 


372 


UARDA. 


easy marches, and she had been obliged to wait a full week 
in the port on the Red Sea, which was chiefly inhabited by 
Phoenicians, for a ship which had finally brought her to 
the little seaport of Pharan. From Pharanshe had crossed 
the mountains to the oasis, where the sanctuary she was to 
visit stood on the northern side. 

The old priests, who conducted the service of the god- 
dess, had received the daughter of Rameses with respect, 
and undertook to restore here to cleanness by degrees 
with the help of the water from the mountain stream 
which watered the palm grove of the Amalekites, of 
incense burning, of pious sentences, and of a hundred 
other ceremonies. At last the goddess declared herself 
satisfied, and Bent-Anat wished to start for the north and 
join her father, but the commander of the escort, a gray- 
headed Ethiopian field officer — who had been promoted. to 
a high grade by Ani — explained to the chamberlain that 
he had orders to detain the princess in the oasis until her 
departure was authorized by the regent himself. 

Bent-Anat now hoped for the support of her father, for 
her brother Rameri, if no accident had occurred to him, 
might arrive any day. But in vain. 

The position of the ladies was particularly unpleasant, 
for they felt that they had been caught in a trap, and were 
in fact prisoners. In addition to this their Ethiopian 
escort had quarreled with the natives of the oasis, and 
every day skirmishes took place under their eyes — indeed 
lately one of these fights had ended in bloodshed. 

Bent-Anat was sick at heart. The two strong pinions 
of her soul, which had always borne her so high above 
other women — her princely pride and her bright frank- 
ness — seemed quite broken; she felt that she had loved 
once, never to love again, and that she, who had sought 
none of her happiness in dreams, but all in work, had be- 
stowed the best half of her identity on a vision. Pen- 
taur’s image took a more and more vivid, and at the same 
time nobler and loftier, aspect in her mind; but he him- 
self had died for her, for only once had a letter reached 
them from Egypt, and that was from Katuti to Nefert. 
After telling her that late intelligence established the 
statement that her husband had taken a prince’s daughter, 
who had been made prisoner, to his tent as his share of 


VAKVA, 


373 


the booty, she added the information that the poet Pen- 
taur, who had been condemned to forced labor, had not 
reached the mountain mines, but, as was supposed, had 
perished on the road. 

Nefert still held to her immovable belief that her hus- 
band was faithful to his love for her, and the magic charm 
of a nature made beautiful by its perfect mastery over a 
deep and pure passion made itself felt in these sad and 
heavy days. 

It seemed as though she had changed parts with Bent- 
Anat. Always hopeful, every day she foretold help from 
the king for the next; in truth she was ready to believe 
that, when Mena learned from Raineri that she was with 
the princess, he himself would come to fetch them if his 
duties allowed it. In her hours of most lively expectation 
she could go so far as to picture how the party in the tents 
would be divided, and who would bear Bent-Anat com- 
pany if Mena took her with him to his camp, on what spot 
of the oasis it would be best to pitch it, and much more in 
the same vein. 

Uarda could very well take her place with Bent-Anat, 
for the child had developed and improved on the journey. 
The rich clothes which the princess had given her became 
her as if she had never worn any others; she could obey 
discreetly, disappear at the right moment, and, when she 
was invited, chatter delightfully. Her laugh was silvery, 
and nothing consoled Bent-Anat so much as to hear it. 

Her songs too pleased the two friends, though the few 
that she knew were grave and sorrowful. She had learned 
them by listening to old Hekt, who often used to play on 
a lute in the dusk, and who, when she perceived that 
Uarda caught the melodies, had pointed out her faults, 
and given her advice. 

“ She may some day come into my hands,” thought the 
witch, “ and the better she sings, the better she will be 
paid.” 

Bent-Anat too, tried to teach Uarda, but learning to 
read was not easy to the girl, however much pains she 
might take. Nevertheless, the princess would not give up 
the spelling, for here, at the foot of the immense sacred 
mountain at whose summit she gazed with mixed horror 
and longing, she was condemned to inactivity, which 


374 


UARDA. 


weighed the more heavily on her in proportion as those 
feelings had to be kept to herself which she longed to escape 
from in work. Uarda knew the origin of her mistress’ 
deep grief and revered her for it, as if it were something 
sacred. Often she would speak of Pentaur and of his 
father, and always in such a manner than the princess 
could not guess that she knew of their love. 

When the prisoners were passing Bent-Anat’s tent, she 
was sitting within with Nefert, and talking, as had become 
habitual in the hours of dusk, of her father, of Mena, 
Rameri, and Pentaur. 

He is still alive,” asserted Nefert. “ My mother, you 
see, says that no one knows with certainty what became of 
him. If he escaped, he beyond a doubt tried to reach the 
king’s camp, and when we get there you will find him with 
your father.” 

The princess looked sadly at the ground. 

Nefert looked affectionately at her, and asked: 

“ Are you thinking of the difference in rank which 
parts you from the man you have chosen?” 

“ The man to whom 1 offer my hand, I put in the rank 
of a prince,” said Bent-Anat. “ But if I could set Pentaur 
on a throne', as master of the world, he would still be 
greater and better than I.” 

“ But your father?” asked Nefert, doubtfully. 

“ He is my friend, he will listen to me and understand 
me. He shall know everything when I see him; I know 
his noble and loving heart.” 

Both were silent for some time; then Bent-Anat spoke: 

“ Pray have lights brought, I want to finish my 
weaving.” 

Nefert rose, went to the door of the tent, and there met 
Uarda; she seized Nefert’s hand, and silently drew her 
out into the air. 

“ What is the matter, child? you are trembling,” Nefert 
exclaimed. 

“ My father is here,” answered Uarda, hastily. “ He is 
escorting some prisoners from the mines of Mafkat. 
Among them there are two chained together, and one of 
them — do not be startled — one of them is the poet Pentaur. 
Stop, for God’s sake, stop, and hear me. Twice before 1 
have seen my father when he has been here with convicts. 


UARDA. 


375 

To-day we must rescue Pentaur; but the princess must 
i know nothing of it, for if my plan fails ” 

“ Child! girl!” interrupted Nefert, eagerly. “ How can 
j I help you?” 

\ “ Order the steward to give the drivers of the gang a 

\ skin of wine in the name of the princess, and out of 
, Bent-Anat’s case of medicines take the phial which con- 
tains the sleeping draught, which, in spite of your wish, 
she will not take. I will wait here, and 1 know how to use 
it.” 

Nefert immediately found the steward, and ordered 
him to follow Uarda with a skin of wine. Then she went 
back to the princess’ tent, and opened the medicine-case. 

“ What do you want?” asked Bent-Anat. 

“A remedy for palpitation,” replied Nefert; she quietly 
took the flask she needed, and in a few minutes put it into 
Uarda’s hand. 

The girl asked the steward to open the wine-skin, and 
let her taste the liquor. While she pretended to drink it, 
she poured the whole contents of the phial into the wine, 
and then let Bent-Anat’s bountiful present be carried to 
the thirsty drivers. 

She herself went toward the kitchen tent, and found a 
young Amalekite sitting on the ground with the princess’ 
servants. He sprang up as soon as he saw the damsel. 

“I have brought four fine partridges,”* he said, “which 
I snared myself, and I have brought this turquoise for 
you — my brother found it in a rock. This stone brings 
good luck, and is good for the eyes; it gives victory over 
our enemies, and keeps away bad dreams.”f 

“ Thank you!” said Uarda, and taking the boy’s hand as 
he gave her the sky-blue stone she led him forward into 
the dusk. 

“Listen, Salich!” she said, softly, as soon as she 


* A brook springs on tbe peak called by the Sinaitic monks Mt. 
St. Katharine, which is called the partridges’ spring, and of which 
many legends are told. For instance, God created it for the par- 
tridges which accompanied the angels who carried St. Katharine of 
Alexandria to her tomb on Sinai. 

f The turquoises of Serbal are finer and bluer than those of Wadi 
Maghara. The Arabs to this day believe in the happy influences of 
the turquoise. 


376 


UARDA . 


thought they were far enough from the others. “ You 
are a good boy, and the maids told me that you said I was 
a star that had come down from the sky to become a 
woman. No one says such a thing as that of any one they 
do not like very much; and I know you like me, for you 
show me that you do every day by bringing me flowers, 
when you carry the game that your father gets to the 
steward. Tell me, will you do me and the princess too a 
very great service? Yes? — and willingly? Yes? I knew 
you would! Now listen. A friend of the great lady Bent- 
Anat, who will come here to-night, must be hidden for a 
day, perhaps several days, from his pursuers. Can he, or 
rather can they, for there will probably be two, find shelter 
and protection in your father’s house, which lies high up 
there on the sacred mountain?” 

“ Whoever I take to my father,” said the boy, “ will be 
made welcome; and we divide what we have, first for our 
guests, and for ourselves after. Where are the strangers?” 

“ They will arrive in a few hours. Will you wait here 
till the moon is well up?” 

“ Till the last of all the thousand moons that vanish 
behind the hills is set.” 

“Well, then, wait on the other side of the stream, and 
conduct the man to your house, who repeats my name 
three times. You know my name?” 

“I call you Silver-star, but the others call you Uarda.” 

“Lead the strangers to your hut, and, if they are re- 
ceived there by your father, come back and tell me. I 
will watch for you here at the door of the tent. 1 am 
poor, alas! and cannot reward you, but the princess will 
thank your father as a princess should. Be watchful, 
Salich!” 

The girl vanished, and went to the drivers of the gang 
of prisoners, wished them a merry and pleasant evening, 
and then hastened back to Bent-Anat, who anxiously 
stroked her abundant hair, and asked her why she was so 
pale. 

“ Lie down,” said the princess, kindly, “you are fever- 
ish. Only look, Nefert, I can see the blood coursing 
through the blue veins in her forehead.” 

Meanwhile the drivers drank, praised the royal wine, 
and the lucky day on which they drank it; and when 


VARDA. 


377 


TJarda’s father suggested that the prisoners too should have 
a mouthful one of his fellow soldiers cried: “ Ay, let the 
poor beasts be jolly for once.” 

The red-beard filled a large beaker, and offered it first 
to a forger and his fettered companion, then he approached 
Pentaur, and whispered: 

“Do not drink any — keep awake!” 

As he was going to warn the physician too, one of his 
companions came between them, and offering his tankard 
to Nebsecht said: 

“Here mumbler, drink; see him pull! His stuttering 
mouth is spry enough for drinking!” 


I regard the peak now known as Serbal as the Sinai of the 
Scriptures, and not that called Sinai by the monks. The stream or 
torrent by which the sanctuary of the Mafkat-Hathor stood, flows 
down the valley of Feiran. The princess’ journey led her across the 
desert from Qeft on the Nile to the seaport subsequently named 
Berenike, thence by ship to the fishing- town of Pharan, and through 
the mountain range to the valley into which that of Feiran opens, 
and which further on forks, and encloses the hill of Meliarrat. I 
have fully discussed the geography, history, and sacred places of the 
Sinaitic peninsula in my work entitled, “ Durcli Gosen zum Sinai.” 
I have described the scene of this part of my story from life, and 
none who have once seen that wondrous mountain and desert range 
can ever forget it. Pentaur’s march was from the present Abu 
Selimeli, on the Sinaitic coast of the Red Sea — where the ancient 
road from the mines seems to have come down to the shore — through 
the valley still called Baba, as it was in the time of the Pharaohs, 
across the mountain pass of Naqb el Buddrah, where the old path 
was some years since retraced and restored by Major Macdonald. 
The mines which were discovered by Palmer and Wilson lay in the 
little Wadi Umm Themaim; the larger valley, where the factory was 
situated, of which the remains still exist, is the Wadi Maghara. 
Rapkidim is the oasis at the foot of- Mt. Horeb southward from the 
mines. Alus is mentioned by Numeri. 

The Arabs of the Sinaitic peninsula still prepare large quantities 
of charcoal from the Mimosa Sajal , and sell it at Cairo. 

It may be added that the name of Abocharabos is genuine, for 
Procopius says that Abocharagos (which Tuck has corrected to Abo- 
charabos) gave to Justinian the palm-grove in the Peninsula of Sinai. 
The inhabitants of this country, called Mentu by the Egyptians, 
were in early times Sebeans, that is worshipers of the heavenly 
bodies. We learn this with certainty from the inscriptions deci- 
phered by Beer, where the authors of the records call themselves 
“ servants,” “fearers,” or “priests” of the Sun, of Baal, etc. The 
Sun-god was called Dusare. The earliest of these inscriptions dates 
from the second century B. C. 


378 


UARDA. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

The hours passed gayly with the drinkers, then they 
grew more and more sleepy. 

Still the moon was high in the heavens before they 
slept, with the exception of Kaschta and Pentaur. 

The soldier rose softly, listened to the breathing of his 
companions, then he approached the poet, unfastened the 
ring which fettered his ankle to that of Xebsecht, and 
endeavored to wake the physician, but in vain. 

“ Follow me!" cried he to the poet; he took Xebsecht 
on his shoulders, and went toward the spot near the stream 
which Uarda had indicated. Three times he called his 
daughter's name, the young Amalekite appeared, and the- 
soldier said, decidedly: “ Follow this man, I will take care 
of Xebsecht." 

“ I will not leave him," said Pentaur. “ Perhaps water 
will wake him." 

They plunged him in the brook, which half woke him, 
and by the help of his companions, who now pushed and 
now dragged him, he staggered and stumbled up the 
rugged mountain path, and before midnight they reached 
their destination, the hut of the Amalekite. 

The old hunter was asleep, but his son aroused him, and 
told him what Uarda had ordered and promised. 

But no promises were needed to incite the worthy 
mountaineer to hospitality. He received the podt with 
genuine friendliness, laid the sleeping leech on a mat, pre- 
pared a couch for Pentaur of leaves and skins, called his 
daughter to wash his feet, and offered him his own holiday 
garment in the place of the rags that covered his body. 

Pentaur stretched himself out on the humble couch, 
which to him seemed softer than the silken bed of a queen, 
but on which nevertheless he could not sleep, for the 
thoughts and fancies that filled his heart were too over- 
powering and bewildering. 

The stars still sparkled in the heavens when he sprang 
from his bed of skins, lifted Xebsecht on to it, and rushed 
out into the open air. A fresh mountain spring flowed 
close to the hunter’s hut. He went to it, and bathed his 
face in the ice-cold water, and let it flow over his body and 


VARDA. 


m 

limbs. He felt as if he must cleanse himself to his very 
soul, not only from the dust of many weeks, but from the 
rebellion and despondency, the ignominy and bitterness, 
and the contact with vice and degradation. 

When at last he left the spring, and returned to the little 
house, he felt clean and fresh as on the morning of a feast- 
day at the temple of Seti, when he had bathed and dressed 
himself in robes of snow-white linen. He took the hun- 
ter's holiday dress, put it on, and went out of doors again. 

The enormous masses of rock lay dimly before him, like 
storm-clouds, and over his head spread the blue heavens 
with their thousand stars. 

The soothing sense of freedom and purity raised his soul, 
and the air that he breathed was so fresh and light that he 
sprang up the path to the summit of the peak as if he were 
borne on wings or carried by invisible hands. 

A mountain goat which met him, turned from him, and 
fled bleating, with his mate, to a steep peak of rock, but 
Pentaur said to the frightened beasts: 

“1 shall do nothing to you — not I.” 

He paused on a little plateau at the foot of the jagged 
granite peak of the mountain. Here again he heard the 
murmur of a spring, the grass under his feet was damp, 
and covered with a film of ice, in which were mirrored the 
stars, now gradually fading. He looked up at the lights 
in the sky, those never-tarrying, and yet motionless wan- 
derers — away, to the mountain heights around him — down, 
into the gorge below — and far off, into the distance. 

The dusk slowly grew into light, the mysterious forms of 
the mountain-chain took shape and stood up with their 
shining points, the light clouds were swept away like 
smoke. Thin vapors rose from the oasis and the other 
valleys at his feet, at first in heavy masses, then they 
parted and were wafted, as if in sport, above and beyond 
him to the sky. Far below him soared a large eagle, the 
only living creature far or near. 

A solemn and utter silence surrounded him, and when 
the eagle swooped down and vanished from his sight, and 
the mist rolled lower into the valley, he felt that here, 
alone, he was high above all other living beings, and stand- 
ing nearer to the divinity. 

He drew his breath fully and deeply, he felt as he had 


380 


VARDA, 


felt in the first hours after his initiation, when for the 
first time he was admitted to the holy of holies — and yet 
quite different. 

Instead of the atmosphere loaded with incense, he 
breathed a light pure air; and the deep stillness of the 
mountain solitude possessed his soul more strongly than 
the chant of the priests. 

Here, it seemed to him, that the divine being would 
hear the lightest murmur of his lips, though indeed his 
heart was so full of gratitude and devotion that his im- 
pulse was to give expression to his mighty flow of feelings 
in jubilant song. But his tongue seemed tied; he knelt 
down in silence, to pray and to praise. 

Then he looked at the panorama round him. 

Where was the east which in Egypt was clearly defined 
by the long Nile range? Down there where it was begin- 
ning to be light over the oasis. To this right hand lay 
the south, the sacred birthplace of the Nile, the home of 
the gods of the cataracts; but here flowed no mighty 
stream, and where was there a shrine for the visible mani- 
festation of Osiris and Isis; of Horus, born of a lotus 
flower in a thicket of papyrus; of Rennut, the goddess of 
blessings, and of Zefa? To which of them could he here 
lift his hand in prayer? 

A faint breeze swept by, the mist vanished like a rest- 
less shade at the word of the exorcist, the many-pointed 
crown of Sinai stood out in sharp relief, and below them 
the winding valleys, and the dark colored rippling surface 
of the lake, became distinctly visible. 

All was silent, all untouched by the hand of man, yet ' 
harmonized to one great and glorious whole, subject to - 
all the laws of the universe, pervaded and filled by the 
Divinity. 

He would fain have raised his hand in thanksgiving to ' 
Apheru, “the guide on the way:” but he dared not; and 
how infinitely small did the gods now seem to him, the 
gods he had so often glorified "to the multitude in inspired 
words, the gods that had no meaning, no dwelling-place, 
no dominion but by the Nile. 

“ To ye,” he murmured, “ I cannot pray! Here where 
my eye can pierce the distance, as if I myself were a god — 
here I feel the presence of the One, here He is near me 
and with me — I will call upon Him and praise Him!” 


UARDA. 


381 


And throwing up his arms he cried aloud: “Thou only 
One! Thou only One! Thou only One!” He said no 
more ; but a tide of song welled up in his breast as he 
spoke — a flood of thankfulness and praise. 

When he rose from his knees, a man was standing by 
him; his eyes were piercing and his tall figure had the 
dignity of a king, in spite of his herdsman’s dress. 

“It is well for you!” said the stranger, in deep slow 
accents. “ You seek the true God.” 

Pentaur looked steadily into the face of the bearded man 
before him. 

“I know you now,” he said. “You are Mesu.* I was 
but a boy when you left the temple of Seti, but your fea- 
tures are stamped on my soul. Ameni initiated me, as 
well as you, into the knowledge of the One God.” 

“He knows Him not,” answered the other, looking 
thoughtfully to the eastern horizon, which every moment 
grew brighter. 

The heavens glowed with purple, and the granite peaks, 
each sheathed in a film of ice, sparkled and shone like 
dark diamonds that had been dipped in light. 

The day-star rose, and Pentaur turned to it, and pros- 
trated himself as his custom was. When he rose Mesu also 
was kneeling on the earth, but his back was turned to the 
sun. 

When he had ended his prayer Pentaur said: “ Why do 
you turn your back on the manifestation of the Sun-god? 
We were taught to look toward him when he approaches.” 

“Because I,” said his grave companion, “pray to 
another God than yours. The sun and stars are but as 
toys in his hand, the earth is his footstool, the storm is 
his breath, and the sea is in his sight as the drops on the 
grass.” 

“ Teach me to know the Mighty One whom you wor- 
ship!” exclaimed Pentaur. 

“Seek Him,” said Mesu, “and you will find Him; for 
you have passed through misery and suffering, and on this 
spot on such a morning as this was He revealed to me.” 

The stranger turned away and disappeared behind a rock 
from the inquiring gaze of Pentaur, who fixed his eyes on 
the distance. 


*Moses. 


382 


UARDA . 


Then he thoughtfully descended the valley and went 
toward the hut of the hunter. He stayed his steps when 
he heard men’s voices, but the rocks hid the speakers from 
his sight. 

Presently he saw the party approaching; the son of his 
host, a man in Egyptian dress, a lady of tall stature, near 
whom a girl tripped lightly, and another carried in a litter 
by slaves. 

Pentaur’s heart beat wildly, for he recognized Bent-Anat 
and her companions. They disappeared by the hunter’s 
cottage, but he stood still, breathing painfully, spell-bound 
to the cliff by which he stood — a long, long time — and did 
not stir. 

He did not hear a light step that came near to him and 
died away again, he did not feel that the sun began to cast 
fierce beams on him, and on the porphyry cliff behind him 
he did not see a woman now coming quickly toward him; 
but, like a deaf man who has suddenly acquired the sense 
of hearing, he started when he heard his name spoken — by 
whose lips? 

“Pentaur!” she said again; the poet opened his arms 
and Bent-Anat fell upon his breast; and he held her to 
him, clasped, as though he must hold her there and never 
part from her all his life long. 

Meanwhile the princess’ companions were resting by the 
hunter’s little house. 

“ She flew into his arms — I saw it,” said Uarda. “ Never 
shall I forget it. It was as if the bright lake there had 
risen up to embrace the mountain.” 

“ Where do you find such fancies, child ?” cried Nefert. 

“ In my heart — deep in my heart!” cried Uarda. “ I am 
so unspeakably happy.” 

“You saved him and rewarded him for his goodness; 
you may well be happy.” 

“ It is not only that,” said Uarda. “ I was in despair, 
and now I see that the gods are righteous and loving.” 

Mena’s wife nodded to her, and said with a sigh: 

“They are both happy!” 

“And they deserve to be!” exclaimed Uarda. “ I fancy 
the goddess of Truth is like Bent-Amat, and there is not 
another man in Egypt like Pentaur,” 


UARDA. 


383 


Nefert was silent for a while; then she asked softly: 
“Did yon ever see Mena?’ 

“How should I?” replied the girl. “Wait a little 
while, and your turn will come. I believe that to-day I 
can read the future like a prophetess. But let us see if 
Nebsecht lies there, and is still asleep. The draught I put 
into the wine must have been strong.” 

“ It was,” answered Nefert, following her into the hut. 

The physician was still lying on the bed, and sleeping 
with his mouth wide open. Uarda knelt down by his side, 
looked in his face, and said: 

“ He is clever and knows everything, but how silly he 
looks now! I will wake him.” 

She pulled a blade of grass out of the heap on which he 
was lying, and saucily tickled his nose. 

Nebsecht raised himself, sneezed, but fell back asleep 
again; Uarda laughed out with her clear, silvery tones. 
Then she blushed — “ That is not right,” she said, “for he 
is good and generous.” 

She took the sleeper’s hand, pressed it to her lips, and 
wiped the drops from his brow. Then he awoke, opened 
his eyes, and murmured, half in a dream still: 

“ Uarda — sweet Uarda.” 

The girl started up and fled, and Nefert followed her. 

When Nebsecht at last got upon his feet and looked 
round him, he found himself alone in a strange house. He 
went out of doors, where he found Bent-Anat’s little train 
anxiously discussing things past and to come. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

The inhabitants of the oasis had for centuries been sub- 
ject to the Pharaohs, and paid them tribute; and among 
the rights granted to them in return, no Egyptian soldier 
might cross their border and territory without their per- 
mission. 

The Ethiopians had therefore pitched Bent-Anat’s tents 
and their own camp outside these limits; but various trans- 
actions soon took place between the idle warriors and the 
Amalekites, which now and then led to quarrels, and 
which one evening threatened serious consequences, when 


384 


TJARDA . 


some drunken soldiers had annoyed the Amalekite women 
while they were drawing water. 

This morning early one of the drivers on awaking had 
missed Pentaur and Nebsecht, and he aroused his com- 
rades, who had been rejoined by Uarda’s father. The en- 
raged guard of the gang of prisoners hastened to the com- 
mandant of the Ethiopians, and informed him that two 
of his prisoners had escaped, and were no doubt being kept 
in concealment by the Amalekites. 

The Amalekites met the requisition to surrender the 
fugitives, of whom they knew nothing, with words of mock- 
ery, which so enraged the officer that he determined to 
search the oasis throughout by force, and when he found 
his emissaries treated with scorn he advanced with the 
larger part of his troops on to the free territory of the 
Amalekites. 

The sons of the desert flew, to arms; they retired before 
the close order of the Egyptian troops, who followed them, 
confident of victory, to a point where the valley widens 
and divides on each side of a rocky hill. Behind this the 
larger part of the Amalekite forces were lying in ambush, 
and as soon as the unsuspicious Ethiopians had marched 
past the hill, they threw themselves on the rear of the 
astonished invaders, while those in front turned upon 
them, and flung lances and arrows at the soldiers, of whom 
very few escaped. 

Among them, however, was the commanding officer, 
who, foaming with rage and only slightly wounded, put 
himself at the head of the remainder of Bent-Anat’s body- 
guard, ordered the escort of prisoners also to follow him, 
and once more advanced into the oasis. 

That the princess might escape him had never for an 
instant occurred to him, but as soon as the last of her 
keepers had disappeared, Bent-Anat explained to the 
chamberlain and her companions that now or never was 
the moment to fly. 

All her people were devoted to her; they loaded them- 
selves with the most necessary things for daily use, took 
the litters and beasts of burden with them, and while the 
battle was raging in the valley, Salich guided them up the 
heights of Sinai to his father^ house. 

It was on the way thither that Uarda had prepared the 


UARDA. 


385 


princess for the meeting she might expect at the hunter’s 
cottage, and we have seen how and where the princess 
found the poet. 

Hand in hand they wandered together along the mount- 
tain path till they came to a spot shaded by a projection 
of the rock; Pentaur pulled some moss to make a seat, 
they reclined on it side by side, and there opened their 
hearts, and told each other of their love and of their suf- 
ferings, their wanderings and escapes. 

At noonday the hunters daughter came to offer them a 
pitcher full of goat’s milk, and Bent-Anat filled the gourd 
again and again for the man she loved; and waiting upon 
him thus, her heart overflowed with pride, and with the 
humility of love that made her wish for no greater happi- 
ness than to spend her life’s blood for him. 

Hitherto they had been so absorbed in the present and 
the past that they had not given a thought to the future, 
and while they repeated a hundred times what each had 
long since known, and yet could never tire of hearing, 
they forgot the immediate danger which was hanging over 
them. 

After their humble meal, the surging flood of feeling 
which ever since his morning devotions had overwhelmed 
the poet’s soul, grew calmer; he had felt as if borne 
through the air, but now he set foot, so to speak, on earth 
again, and seriously considered with Bent-Anat what steps 
they must take in the immediate future. 

The light of joy, which beamed in their eyes, was little 
in accordance with the grave consultation they held, as 
hand in hand they descended to the hut of their humble 
host. 

The hunter, guided by his daughter, met them half-way, 
and with him a tall and dignified man in the full armor 
of a chief of the Amalekites. 

Both bowed and kissed the earth before Bent-Anat and 
Pentaur. They had heard that the princess was detained 
in the oasis by force by the Ethiopian troops, and the 
desert-prince, Abocharabos, now informed them, not with- 
out pride, that the Ethiopian soldiers, all but a few who 
were his prisoners, had been exterminated by his people; 
at the same time he assured Pentaur, whom he supposed 
to be a son of the king, and Bent-Anat, that he and his 


386 


UARDA. 


were entirely devoted to the Pharaoh Raineses, who had 
always respected their rights. 

“ They are accustomed,” he added, “to fight against the 
cowardly dogs of Kush; but we are men, and we can fight 
like the lions of our wilds. If we are outnumbered we 
hide like the goats in clefts of the rocks.” 

Bent-Anat, who was pleased with the daring man, his 
flashing eyes, his aquiline nose, and his brown face which 
bore the mark of a bloody sword-cut, promised him to 
commend him and his people to her father’s favor, and 
told him of her desire to proceed as soon as possible to the 
king’s camp under the protection of Pentaur, her future 
husband. 

The mountain chief had gazed attentively at Pentaur 
and at Bent-Anat while she spoke; then he said: 

“ Thou, princess, art like the moon, and thy companion 
is like the Sun-god Dusare. Besides Abocharabos,” and 
he struck his breast, “and his wife, I know no pair that 
are like you two. I myself will conduct you to Hebron 
with some of my best men of war. But haste will be 
necessary, for I must be back before the traitor who now 
rules over Mizraim,* and who persecutes you, can send 
fresh forces against us. Now you can go down again to 
the tents, not a hen is missing. To-morrow before day- 
break we will be off.” 

At the door of the hut Pentaur was greeted by the prin- 
cess’ companions. 

The chamberlain looked at him not without anxious 
misgiving. 

The king, when he departed, had, it is true, given him 
orders to obey Bent-Anat in every particular, as if 
she were the queen herself ; but her choice of such a 
husband was a thing unheard of, and how would the king 
take it? 

Nefert rejoiced in the splendid person of the poet, and 
frequently repeated that fie was as like her dead uncle — 
the father of Paaker, the chief pioneer — as if he were his 
younger brother. 

Uardfl never wearied of contemplating her beloved 
princess. She no longer looked upon her as a being of a 


Tlie Semitic name for Egypt. 


UARDA. 


387 


higher order; but the happiness of the noble pair seemed 
to her an embodied omen of happiness for NeferPs love— 
perhaps too for her own. 

Nebsecht kept modestly in the background. The head- 
ache, from which he had long been suffering, had disap- 
peared in the fresh mountain air. When Pentaiu* offered 
him his hand he exclaimed : 

“ Here is an end to all my jokes and abuse! A strange 
thing is this fate of men. ■ Henceforth I shall always have 
the worst of it in any dispute with you, for all the dis- 
cords of your life have been very prettily resolved by the 
great master of harmony, to whom you pray.” 

“ You speak almost as if you were sorry; but everything 
will turn out happily for you too.” 

“ Hardly!” replied the surgeon, “ for now I see it clearly. 
Every man is a separate instrument, formed even before 
his birth, in an occult workshop, of good or bad wood, 
skillfully or unskillfully made, of this shape or the other; 
everything in his life, no matter what we call it, plays upon 
him, and the instrument sounds for good or evil as it is 
well or ill made. You are an HSolian harp — the sound is 
delightful, whatever breath of fate may touch it; I am a 
weather-cock — I turn which ever way the wind blows, and 
try to point right, but at the same time I creak, so that it 
hurts my own ears and those of other people. I am con- 
tent if now and then a steersman may set his sails rightly 
by my indication; though after all it is ail the same to 
me. I will turn round and round, whether others look at 
me or no. What does it signify?” 

When Pentaur and the princess took leave of the hunter 
with many gifts the sun was sinking, and the toothed 
peaks of Sinai glowed like rubies, through which shone 
the glow of half a world on fire. 

The journey to the royal camp was begun the next 
morning. Abocharabos, the Amalekite chief, accom- 
panied the caravan, to which Uarda's father also attached 
himself ; he had been taken prisoner in the struggle 
with the natives, but at Bent-AnaPs request was set at 
liberty. 

At their first halting-place he was commanded to explain 
how he had succeeded in having Pentaur taken to the mines, 
instead of to the quarries of Chennu. 


388 


UARDA. 


“ I knew,” said the soldier, in his homely way, “from 
Uarda where this man, who had risked his life for us poor 
folks, was to be taken, and I said to myself — I must save 
him. But thinking is not my trade, and I never can lay a 
plot. It would very likely have come to some violent act, 
that would have ended badly, if I had not had a hint from 
another person, even before Uarda told me of what 
threatened Pentaur. This is how it was: 

‘•'I was to convoy the prisoners, who were condemned 
to work in the Mafkat mines, across the river to the place 
they start from. In the harbor of Thebes, on the other 
side, the poor wretches were to take leave of their friends; 
I have seen it a hundred times, and I never can get used 
to it, and yet one can get hardened to most things ! 
Their loud cries and wild howls are not the worst — those 
that scream the most. I have always found are the first to 
get used to their fate; but the pale ones, whose lips turn 
white, and whose teeth chatter as if they were freezing, 
and whose eyes stare out into vacancy without any tears — 
those go to my heart. There was all the usual misery, 
both noisy and silent. But the man I was most sorry 
for was one I had known for a long time; his name was 
Huni, and he belonged to the temple of Anion, where he 
held the place of overseer of the attendants on the 
sacred goat. I had often met him when I was on duty to 
watch the laborers who were completing the great pillared 
hall, and he was respected by every one, and never 
failed in his duty. Once, however, he had neglected it; 
it was that very night which you all will remember when 
the wolves broke into the temple, and tore the rams, and 
the sacred heart was laid in the breast of the prophet 
Rui. Some one, of course, must be punished, and it 
fell on poor Huni, who for his carelessness was condemned 
to forced labor in the mines of Mafkat. Ilis successor 
will keep a sharp lookout! No one came to see him off, 
though I knew he had a wife and several children. He 
was as pale as this cloth, and was one of the sort whose 
grief eats into their heart. I went up to him, and asked 
him why no one came with him. He had taken leave of 
them at home, he answered, that his children might not 
see him mixed up with forgers and murderers. Eight 
poor little brats were left unprovided for with their 


UARDA. 


389 


mother, and a little while before a fire had destroyed 
everything they possessed. There was not a crumb to 
stop their little squalling mouths. He did not tell me all 
this straight out; a word fell from him now and then, like 
dates out of a torn sack. I picked it up bit by bit, and 
when he saw I felt for him he grew fierce and said: f They 
may send me to the gold mines or cut me to pieces, as far 
as I am concerned, but that the little ones should starve 
that — that ,* and he struck his forehead. Then I left him 
to say good-by to Uarda, and on the way I kept repeating 
to myself ‘that — that and saw before me the man and his 
eight brats. If I were rich, thought I, there is a man I 
would help. When I got to the little one there, she told 
me how much money the leech Nebsecht had given her, 
and offered to give it me to save Pentaur; then it passed 
through my mind — that may go to Huni*s children, and in 
return he will let himself be shipped off to Ethiopia. I 
ran to the harbor, spoke to the man, found him ready and 
willing, gave the money to his wife, and at night when the 
prisoners were shipped I contrived the exchange. Pen- 
taur came with me on my boat under the name of the 
other, and Huni went to the south, and was called Pen- 
taur. I had not deceived the man into thinking he would 
stop at Chennu. I told him he would be taken on to 
Ethiopia, for it is always impossible to play a man false 
when you know it is quite easy to do it. It is very 
strange! It is a real pleasure to cheat a cunning fellow or 
a sturdy man, but who would take in a child or a sick 
person? Huni certainly would have gone into the fire- 
pots of hell without complaining, and he left me quite 
cheerfully. The rest, and how we got here, you yourselves 
know. In Syria at this time of year you will suffer a good 
deal from rain. I know the country, for I have escorted 
many prisoners of war into Egypt, and I was there five 
years with the troops of the great Moliar, father of the 
chief pioneer Paaker.” 

Bent-Anat thanked the brave fellow, and Pentaur and 
Nebsecht continued the narrative. 

“ During the voyage,” said Nebsecht, “1 was uneasy 
about Pentaur, for I saw how he was pining, but in the 
desert he seemed to rouse himself, and often whispered 
sweet little songs that he had composed while we 
marched.” 


390 


UARDA. 


“That is strange,” said Bent-Anat, “for I also got 
better in the desert.” 

“ Repeat the verses on the Beytharan plant,”* said 
N ebseeht 

“ No you know the plant?” asked the poet. “ It grows 
here in many places; here it is. Only smell how sweet it 
is if you bruise the fleshy stem and leaves. My little verse 
is simple enough; it occurred to me like many other songs 
of which you know all the best.” 

“They" all praise the same goddess,” said Nebsecht, 
laughing. 

“ But let us have the verses,” said Bent-Anat. The poet 
repeated in a low voice: 

“ How often in the desert I have seen 
The small herb, Beytharan, in modest green ! 

In every tiny leaf and gland and hair 
Sweet perfume is distilled, and scents the air. 

How is it that in barren sandy ground 
This little plant so sweet a gift has found ? 

And that in me, in this vast desert plain, 

The sleeping gift of song awakes again ?” 

“ Do you not ascribe to the desert what is due to love?” 
said Nefert. 

“ I owe it to both; but I must acknowledge that the 
desert is a wonderful physician for a sick soul. We take 
refuge from the monotony that surrounds us in our own 
reflections; the senses are at rest; and here, undisturbed 
and uninfluenced from without, it is given to the mind to 
think out every train of thought to the end, to examine 
and exhaust every feeling to its finest shades. In the city, 
one is always a mere particle in a great whole, on which 
one is dependent, to which one must contribute, and from 
which one must accept something. The solitary wanderer 
in the desert stands quite alone; he is in a manner freed 
from the ties which bind him to any great human com- 
munity; he must fill up the void by his own identity, and 
seek in it that which may give his existence significance 
and consistency. Here, where the present retires into the 
background, the thoughtful spirit finds no limits, however 
remote. ” 


*Santolina fragrantissima. 


UARDA. 


891 


“ Yes; one can think well in the desert," said Nebsecht. 
“Much has become clear to me here that in Egypt I only 
guessed at.” 

“ What may that he?” asked Pentaur. 

“In the first place,” replied Nebsecht, “that we none 
of us really know anything rightly; secondly that the ass 
may love the rose, but the rose will not love the ass; and 
the third thing I will keep to myself, because it is my 
secret, and though it concerns all the world no one would 
trouble himself about it. My lord chamberlain, how is 
this? You know exactly how low people must bow before 
the princess in proportion to their rank, and have no idea 
how a backbone is made.” 

“Why should I?” asked the chamberlain. “I have to 
attend to outward things, while you are contemplating in- 
ward things; else your hair might be smoother, and your 
dress less stained.” 

The travelers reached the old Cheta city of Hebron 
without accident; there they took leave of Abocharabos, 
and under the safe escort of Egyptian troops started again 
for the north. At Hebron Pentaur parted from the prin- 
cess, and Bent-Anat bid him farewell without complain- 
ing. 

Uarda’s father, who had learned every path and bridge 
in Syria, accompanied the poet; while the physician Neb- 
secht remained with the ladies, whose good star seemed to 
have deserted them with Pentaur’s departure, for the vio- 
lent winter rains which fell in the mountains of Samaria 
destroyed the roads, soaked through the tents, and con- 
demned them frequently to undesirable delays. At Meg- 
iddo they were received with high honors by the command- 
ant of the Egyptian garrison and they were compelled to 
linger here some days, for Nefert, who had been particu- 
larity eager to hurry forward, was taken ill, and Nebsecht 
was obliged to forbid her proceeding at this season. 

Uarda grew pale and thoughtful, and Bent-Anat saw 
with anxiety that the tender roses were fading from the 
cheeks of her pretty favorite; but when she questioned her 
as to what ailed her she gave an evasive answer. She had 
never either mentioned Rameri’s name before the princess, 
nor shown her her mother’s jewel, for she felt as if all 
that had passed between her and the prince was a secret 


392 


UARDA. 


which did not belong to her alone. Yet another reason 
sealed her lips. She was passionately devoted to Bent- 
Anat, and she told herself that if the princess heard it all, 
she would either blame her brother or laugh at his affection 
as at a child's play, and she felt as if in that case she could 
not love Rameri’s sister any more. 

A messenger had been sent on from the first frontier 
station to the king’s camp to inquire by which road the 
princess and her party should leave Megiddo. But the 
emissary returned with a short and decided though affec- 
tionate letter, written by the king’s own hand, to his 
daughter desiring her not to quit Megiddo, which was a 
safe magazine and arsenal for the army, strongly fortified 
and garrisoned, as it commanded the roads from the sea 
into north and central Palestine. Decisive encounters, 
he said, were impending, and she knew that the Egyptians 
always excluded their wives and daughters from their war 
train, and regarded them as the best reward of victory, 
when peace was obtained. 

While the ladies were waiting in Megiddo, Pentaur and his 
red-bearded guide proceeded northward with a small 
mounted escort, with which they were supplied by the 
commandant of Hebron. 

He himself rode with dignity, though this journey was 
the first occasion on which he had sat on horseback. He 
seemed to have come into the world with the art of riding 
born with him. As soon as he had learned from his com- 
panions how to grasp the bridle, and had made himself 
familiar with the nature of the horse, it gave him the 
greatest delight to tame and subdue a fiery steed. 

He had left his priest’s robes in Egypt. Here he wore a 
coat of mail, a sword and battle-ax, like a warrior, and his 
long beard, which had grown during his captivity, now 
flowed down over his breast. Uarda’s father often looked at 
him with admiration, and said: 

“ One might think the Mohar, with whom I often trav- 
eled these roads, had risen from the dead, lie looked like 
you, he spoke like you, he called the men as you do, nay 
he sat as you do when the road was too bad for his chariot, 
and he got on horseback and held the reins.” 

None of Pentaur’s men, except his red-bearded friend, 
was more to him than a mere hired servant, and he usually 


VARDA. 


393 


preferred Jto ride alone, apart from the little troop, musing 
on the past — seldom on the future — and generally observ- 
ing all that lay on his way with a keen eye. 

They soon reached Lebanon; between it and anti-Lebanon 
a road led through the great Syrian valley. It rejoiced 
him to see with his own eyes the distant shimmer of the 
white snow-capped peaks, of which lie had often heard 
warriors talk. 

The country between the two mountain ranges was rich 
and fruitful, and from the heights waterfalls and torrents 
rushed into the valley. Many villages and towns lay on 
his road, but most of them had been damaged in the war. 
The peasants had been robbed of their teams of cattle, the 
flocks had been driven off from the shepherds, and when a 
vine-dresser who was training his vine saw the little troop 
approaching, he fled to the ravines and forests. 

The traces of the plow and the spade were everywhere 
visible, but the fields were for the most part not sown; the 
young peasants were under arms, the gardens and meadows 
were trodden down by soldiers, the houses and cottages 
plundered and destroyed or burned. Everything bore the 
trace of the devastation of the war, only the oak and cedar 
forests lorded it proudly over the mountain slopes, planes 
and locust trees grew in groves, and the gorges and rifts of 
the thinly wooded limestone hills, which bordered the fer- 
tile lowland, were filled with evergreen brushwood. 

At this time of year everything was moist and well 
watered, and Pentaur compared the country with Egypt, 
and observed how the same results were attained here as 
there, but by different agencies. He remembered that 
morning on Sinai, and said to himself again: i( Another 
God than ours rules here, and the old masters were not 
wrong who reviled godless strangers and warned the un- 
initiated, to whom the secret of the One must remain 
unrevealed, to quit their home.” 

The nearer he approached the king’s camp the more viv- 
idly he thought of Bent-Anat, and the faster his heart beat 
from time to time whtn he thought of his meeting with 
the king. On the whole he was full of cheerful confidence, 
which he felt to be folly, and which nevertheless he could 
not repress. 

Aineni had often blamed him for his too great diffidence 


394 


VARDA . 


and his want of ambition, when he had willingly let others 
pass him by. He remembered this now, and smiled and 
understood himself less than ever, for though he resolutely 
repeated to himself a hundred times that he was a low- 
born, poor and excommunicated priest, the feeling would 
not be smothered that he had a right to claim Bent-Anat 
for his own. 

And if the king refused him his daughter — if he made 
him pay for his audacity with his life? 

Not an eyelash, he well knew, would tremble under the 
blow of the ax, and he would die content; for that which 
she had granted him was his, and no god could take from 
him. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

Once or twice Pentaur and his companions had had to 
defend themselves against hostile mountaineers, who rushed 
suddenly upon them out of the woods. When they were 
about two days’ journey still from the end of their march 
they had a bloody skirmish with a roving band of men 
that seemed to belong to a larger detachment of troops. 

The nearer they got to Kadesh the more familiar 
Kaschta showed himself with every stock and stone, and 
he went forward to obtain information; he returned some- 
what anxious, for he had perceived the main body of the , 
Cheta army on the road which they must cross. How came 
the enemy here in the rear of the Egyptian army? Could 
Raineses have sustained a defeat? 

Only the day before they had met some Egyptian soldiers, 
who had told them that the king was staying in the camp, 
and a great battle was impending. This, however, could 
not have by this time been decided, and they had met no 
flying Egyptians. 

“ If we can only get two miles further without having 
to fight,” said Uarda’s father. “ I know what to do. 
Down below, there lies a ravine, and from it a path leads 
over hill and vale to the plain of Kadesh. No one ever 
knew it but the Mohar and his most confidential servants. 
About half-way there is a hidden cave, in which we have 
often stayed the whole day long. The Cheta used to be- 


VARDA. 


395 


lieve that the Mohar possessed magic powers, and could 
make himself invisible, for when they lay in wait for us 
on the way we used suddenly to vanish; but certainly not 
into the clouds, only into the cave, which the Mohar used 
to call his Tuat.* If you are not afraid of a climb, and 
will lead your horse behind you for a mile or two, I can 
show you the way, and to-morrow morning we will be at 
the camp.” 

Pentaur let his guide lead the way; they came, without 
having occasion to fight, as far as the gorge between the 
hills, through which a full and foaming mountain torrent 
rushed to the valley. Kaschta dropped from his horse, 
and the others did the same. After the horses had passed 
through the water he carefully effaced their tracks as far 
as the road, then for about half a mile he ascended the 
valley against the stream. At last he stopped in front of 
a thick oleander-bush, looked carefully about, and lightly 
pushed it aside; when he had found an entrance, his con> 
panions and their weary scrambling beasts followed him 
without difficulty, and they presently found themselves in 
a grove of lofty cedars. Now they had to squeeze them- 
selves between masses of rock, now they labored up and 
down over smooth pebbles, which offered scarcely any foot- 
ing to the horses’ hoofs; now they had to push their way 
through thick brushwood, and now to cross little brooks 
swelled by the winter rains. 

The road became more difficult at ever step, then it 
began to grow dark, and heavy drops of rain fell from the 
clouded sky. 

“ Make haste, and keep close to me,” cried Kaschta. 
“ Half an hour more, and we shall be under shelter, if I 
do not lose my way.” 

Then a horse broke down, and with great difficulty was 
got up again; the rain fell with increased violence, the 
night grew darker, and the soldier often found himself 
brought to a stand-still, feeling for the path with his 
hands; twice he thought he had lost it, but he would not 
give in till he had recovered the track. At last he stood 
still, and called Pentaur to come to him. 

“ Hereabouts,” said he, “ the cave must be; keep close 


* Tuat — the nether- world, the abyss. 


396 


VARDA. 


to me — it is possible that we may come upon some of 
the pioneer’s people. Provisions and fuel were always 
kept here in his father’s time. Can you see me? Hold 
on to my girdle, and bend your head low till I tell you 
you may stand upright again. Keep your ax ready, we 
may find some of the Cheta or bandits roosting there. 
You people must wait — we will soon call you to come under 
shelter.” 

Pentaur closely followed his guide, pushing his way 
through the dripping brushwood, crawling through a low 
passage in the rock, and at last emerging on a small rocky 
plateau. 

“ Take care where you are going!” cried Kaschta. “ Keep 
to the left, to the right there is a deep abyss. I smell 
smoke! Keep your hand on your ax, there must be some 
one in the cave. Wait! I will fetch the men as far as 
this.” 

The soldier went back, and Pentaur listened for any 
sounds that might come from the same direction as the 
smoke. He fancied he could perceive a small gleam of 
light, and he certainly heard quite plainly, first a tone of 
complaint, then an angry voice; he went toward the light, 
feeling his way by the wall on his left; the light shone 
broader and brighter, and seemed to issue from a crack in 
a door. 

By this time the soldier had rejoined Pentaur, and both 
listened for a few minutes; then the poet whispered to his 
guide: 

“ They are speaking Egyptian; I caught a few words.” 

“ All the better,” said Kaschta. “ Paaker or some of 
his people are in there; the door is there still, and shut. 
If we give four hard and three gentle knocks, it will be 
opened. Can you understand what they are saving?” 

“Some one is begging to be set free,” replied Pentaur, 
“and speaks of some traitor. The other has a rough 
voice, and says he must follow his master’s orders. Kow 
the one who spoke before is crying; do you hear? He is 
entreating him by the soul of his father to take his fetters 
off. How despairing his voice is! Knock, Kaschta — it 
strikes me we are come at the right moment — knock, I 
say.” 

The soldier knocked first four times, then three times. 


UARDA. 


397 


A shriek rang through the cave, and they could hear a 
heavy, rusty bolt drawn back, the roughly-hewn door was 
opened, and a hoarse voice asked: 

“ Is that Paaker?” 

“ No,” answered the soldier, “I am Kaschta. Do not 
you know ine again, Nubi?” 

The man thus addressed, who was Paaker’s Ethiopian 
slave, drew back in surprise. 

“Are you still alive?” he exclaimed. “What brings 
you here?” 

“My lord here will tell you,” answered Kaschta, as he 
made way for Pentaur to enter the cave. The poet went 
up to the black man, and the light of the fire which burned 
in the cave fell full on his face. 

The old slave stared at him, and drew back in astonish- 
ment and terror. He threw himself on the earth, howled 
like a dog that fawns at the feet of his angry master, and 
cried out: 

“ He ordered it — Spirit of my master! he ordered it.” 

Pentaur stood still, astounded and incapable of speech, 
till he perceived a young man, who crept up to him on his 
hands and feet, which were bound with thongs* and who 
cried to him in a tone, in which terror was mingled with a 
tenderness which touched Pentaur’s very soul: 

“Save me — Spirit of the Mohar! save me, father!” 
Then the poet spoke. 

“I am no spirit of the dead,” said he. “ I am the 
priest Pentaur; and I know you, boy; you are Horus, 
Paaker’s brother, who was brought up with me in the 
temple of Seti.” 

The prisoner approached him trembling, looked at him 
inquiringly and exclaimed: 

“ Be you who you may, you are exactly like my father in 
person and in voice. Loosen my bonds, and listen to me, 
for the most hideous, atrocious, and accursed treachery 
threatens us — the king and all.” 

Pentaur drew his sword and cut the leather thongs 
which bound the young man’s hands and feet. He 
stretched his released limbs, uttering thanks to the gods, 
then he cried: 

“ If you love Egypt and the king follow me; perhaps 
there is yet time to hinder the hideous deed, and to frus- 
trate this treachery.” 


398 


UARDA. 


“The night is dark,” said Kaschta, “and the road to 
the valley is dangerous.” 

“You must follow me if it is to your death!” cried the 
youth, and, seizing Pentaur’s hand, he dragged him with 
him out of the cave. 

As soon as the black slave had satisfied himself that 
Pentaur was the priest whom he had seen fighting in front 
of the paraschites’ hovel, and not the ghost of his dead 
master, he endeavored to slip past Paaker’s brother, but 
Horns observed the maneuver, and seized him by his 
woolly hair. The slave cried out loudly* and whimpered 
out: 

“If thou dost escape, Paaker will kill me; he swore he 
would.” 

“Wait!” said the youth. He dragged the slave back, 
flung him into the cave, and blocked up the door with a 
huge log, which lay near it for that purpose. 

When the three men had crept back through the’ low 
passage in the rocks, and found themselves once more in 
the open air, they found a high wind was blowing. 

“ The storm will soon be over,” said Horus. “ See how 
the clouds are driving! Let us have horses, Pentaur, for 
there is not a minute to be lost.” 

The poet ordered Kaschta to summon the people to 
start, but the soldier advised differently. 

“ Men and horses are exhausted,” he said, “ and we shall 
get on very slowly in the dark. Let the beasts feed for an 
hour, and the men get rested and warm; by that time the 
moon will be up, and we shall make up for the delay by 
having fresh horses, and light enough to see the road.” 

“The man is right,” said Horus; and he led Kaschta 
to a cave in the rocks, where barley and dates for the 
horses, and a few jars of wine, had been preserved. They 
soon had lighted a fire, and, while some of the men took 
care of the horses, and others cooked a warm mess of 
victuals, Horus and Pentaur walked up and down im- 
patiently. 

“ Had you been long bound in those thongs when we 
came?” asked Pentaur. 

“Yesterday my brother fell upon me,” replied Horus. 
“He is by this time a long way ahead of us, and if 
he joins the Cheta, and we do not reach the Egyptian 
camp before daybreak, all is lost,” 


UARDA. 


399 


“Paaker, then, is plotting treason?” 

“ Treason, the foulest, blackest treason!” exclaimed the 
young man. “ Oh, my lost father!” 

“ Confide in me,” said Pentaur, going up to the unhappy 
youth, who had hidden his face in his hands. “ What 
is Paaker plotting? How is it that your brother is your 
enemy?” 

“He is the elder of us two?” said Horus, with a trem- 
bling voice. “ When my father died I had only a short 
time before left the school of Seti, and with his last words 
my father enjoined me to respect Paaker as the head of 
our family. He is domineering and violent, and will 
allow no one’s will to cross his; but I bore everything, and 
always obeyed him, often against my better judgment. I 
remained with him two years, then I went to Thebes, and 
there I married, and my wife and child are now living 
there with my mother. About sixteen months afterward 
I came back to Syria, and we traveled through the country 
together; but by this time I did not choose to be the mere 
tool of my brother’s will, for I had grown prouder, and it 
seemed to me that the father of my child ought not to be 
subservient, even to his own brother. We often quarreled, 
and had a bad time together, and life became quite unendur- 
able, when — about eight weeks since — Paaker came back 
from Thebes, and the king gave him to understand that he 
approved more of my reports than of his. From my child- 
hood I have always been soft-hearted and patient; every 
one says I am like my mother; but what Paaker made me 

suffer by words and deeds, that is — I could not ” His 

voice broke, and Pentaur felt how cruelly he had suffered; 
then he went on again: 

“ What happened to my brother in Egypt, I do not 
know, for he is very reserved, and asks for no sympathy, 
either in joy or in sorrow; but from words he has dropped 
now and then I gather that he not only bitterly hates Mena, 
the charioteer — who certainly did him an injury — but has 
some grudge against the king too. I spoke to him of it 
once, but only once, for his rage is unbounded when he is 
provoked, and after all he is my elder brother. 

“ For some days they have been preparing in the camp 
for a decisive battle, and it was our duty to ascertain the 
position and strength of the enemy; the king gave me. 


400 


UARDA. 


and not Paaker, the commission to prepare the report. 
Early yesterday morning I drew it out and wrote it; then 
my brother said he would carry it to the camp, and I was 
to wait here. I positively refused, as Rameses had required 
the report at my hands, and not at his. Well, he raved 
like a madman, declared that I had taken advantage of 
his absence to insinuate myself into the king’s favor, and 
commanded me to obey him as the head of the house, in 
the name of my father. 

“I was sitting irresolute, when he went out of the 
cavern to call his horses; then my eyes fell on the things 
which the old black slave was tying together to load on a 
pack-horse — among them was a roll of writing. I fancied 
it was my own, and took it up to look at it, when — what 
should I find? At the risk of my life I had gone among 
the Cheta, and had found that the main body of their 
army is collected in a cross- valley of the Orontes, quite 
hidden in the mountains to the north-east of Kadesh; and 
in the roll it was stated, in Paaker’s own handwriting, 
that that valley is clear, and the way through it open, and 
well suited for the passage of the Egyptian war-chariots; 
various other false details were given, and when I looked 
further among his things, I found between the arrows in 
his quiver, on which he had written ‘ death to Mena,' 
another little roll of writing. I tore it open, and my blood 
ran cold when I saw to whom it was addressed.” 

“To the king of the Cheta?” cried Pentaur, in ex- 
citement. 

“To his chief officer, Titure,”* continued Horus. “I 
was holding both the rolls in my hand, when Paaker came 
back into the cave. ‘ Traitor!’ I cried out to him; but he 
flung the lasso, with which he had been catching the stray 
horses, threw it round my neck, and as I fell choking on the 
ground, he and the black man, who obeys him like a dog, 
bound me hand and foot; he left the old negro to keep 
guard over me, took the rolls and rode away. Look, there 
are the stars, and the moon will soon be up.” 

“Make haste, men!” cried Pentaur. “The three best 
horses for me, Horus and Kaschta ; the rest remain here.” 


* This name occurs among the Cheta on the triumphal Monuments 
of the Ramesseum. 


UARDA. 


401 


As the red-bearded soldier led the horses forward, the 
moon shone forth, and within an hour the travelers had 
reached the plain; they sprang onto the beasts and rode 
madly on toward the lake, which, when the sun rose, 
gleamed before them in silverv-green. As they drew near 
to it they could discern, on its treeless western shore, black 
masses moving hither and thither; clouds of dust rose up 
from the plain, pierced by flashes of light, like the rays of 
the sun reflected from a moving mirror. 

“ The battle is begun!” cried Horus; and he fell sobbing 
on his horse's neck. 

t “ But all is not lost yet!” exclaimed the poet, spurring 
his horse to a final effort of strength. His companions did 
the same, but first Kaschta's horse fell under him, then 
Horns' broke down. 

“Help may be given by the left wing!” cried Horus. 
“I will run as fast as I can on foot — 1 know where to find 
them. You will easily find the king if you follow the 
stream to the stone bridge. In the cross-valley about a 
thousand paces further north — to the north-west of our 
stronghold — the surprise is to be effected. Try to get 
through, and warn Rameses; the Egyptian pass-word is 
‘ Bent-Anat,' the name of the king's favorite daughter. 
But even if you had wings, and could fly straight to him, 
they would overpower him if I cannot succeed in turning 
the left wing on the rear of the enemy.” 

Pentaur galloped onward; but it was not long before his 
horse too gave way, and he ran forward like a man who 
runs a race, and shouted the pass-word “Bent-Anat” — 
for the ring of her name seemed to give him vigor. 
Presently he came upon a mounted messenger of the 
enemy; he struck him down from his horse, flung himself 
into the saddle, and rushed on toward the camp, as if he 
were riding to his wedding. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

During the night which had proved so eventful to our 
friends, much had occurred in the king's camp, for the 
troops were to advance to the long-anticipated battle before 
sunrise. 


402 


UARDA, 


Paaker had given his false report of the enemy’s move- 
ments to the Pharaoh with his own hand; a council of war 
had been held, and each division had received instructions 
as to where it was to take up its position. The corps, 
which bore the name of the Sun-god Ra, advanced from 
the south toward Schabatun,* so as to surround the lake 
on the east, and fall on the enemy’s flank; the corps of 
Seth, composed of men from lower Egypt, was sent on to 
Arnam to form the center; the king himself, with the 
flower of the chariot-guard, proposed to follow the road 
through the valley, which Paaker’s report represented as a 
safe and open passage to the plain of the Orontes. Thus, 
while the other divisions occupied the enemy, he could 
cross the Orontes by a ford, and fall on the rear of the 
fortress of Kadesh from the north-west. The corps of 
Amon, with the Ethiopian mercenaries, were to support 
him, joining him by another route, which the pioneer’s 
false indications represented as connecting the line of 
operations. The corps of Ptah remained as a reserve 
behind the left wing. 

The soldiers had not gone to rest as usual; heavily 
armed troops, who bore in one hand a shield of half a 
man’s height, and in the other a scimitar, or a short, 
pointed sword, guarded the camp, where numerous fires 

* Kadesh was the chief city of the Cheta, i. e., Aramaeans, round 
which the united forces of all the peoples of western Asia had col- 
lected. There were several cities called Kadesh. That which 
frequently checked the forces of Thotmes III may have been situated 
further to the south; but the Cheta city of Kadesh, where Rameses 
II fought so hard a battle, was undoubtedly on the Orontes, for the 
river which is depicted on the pylon of the Ramesseum as parting 
into two streams which wash the Avails of the fortress, is called 
Aruntha, and in the Epos of Pentaur it is stated that this battle took 
place at Kadesh by the Orontes. The name of the city survives, at 
a spot just three miles north of the lake of Riblah. The battle itself 
I have described from the Epos of Pentaur, the national epic of 
Egypt. It ends with these words: “This was written and made by 
the scribe Pentaur.” It was so highly esteemed that it is engraved 
in stone twice at Luqsor, and once at Karnak. Copies of it on 
papyrus are frequent ; for instance, papyrus Sallier III and 
papyrus Raifet — unfortunately much injured— in the Louvre. The 
principal incident, the rescue of the king from the enemy, is repeated 
at the Ramesseum at Thebes, and at Abu Simbel. It was translated 
into French by Vicomte E. de Rouge. The camp of Rameses is 
depicted on the pylons of Luqsor and the Ramesseum. 


UAJRDA. 


403 


burned, round which crowded the resting warriors. Here 
a wine-skin was passed from hand to hand, there a joint 
was roasting on a wooden spit; further on a party were 
throwing dice for the booty they had won, or playing at 
morra. All was in eager activity, and many a scuffle 
occurred among the excited soldiers, and had to be settled 
by the camp watch. 

Near the inclosed plots, where the horses were tethered, 
the smiths were busily engaged in shoeing the beasts which 
needed it, and in sharpening the points of the lances; the 
servants of the chariot-guard were also fully occupied, as 
the chariots had for the most part been brought over the 
mountains in detached pieces on the backs of pack-horses 
and asses,* and now had to be put together again, and to 
have their wheels greased. On the eastern side of the 
camp stood a canojDy, under which the standards were 
kept, and there numbers of priests were occupied in their 
office of blessing the warriors, offering sacrifices, and sing- 
ing hymns and litanies. But these pious sounds were fre- 
quently overpowered by the loud voices of the gamblers 
and revellers, by the blows of the hammers, the hoarse 
braying of the asses, and the neighing of the horses. From 
time to time also the deep roar of the king’s war-lionsf 
might be heard; these beasts followed him into the fight, 
and were now howling for food, as they had been kept 
fasting to excite their fury. 

In the midst of the camp stood the king’s tent, sur- 
rounded by foot and chariot-guards. The auxiliary troops 
were encamped in divisions according to their nationality, 
and between them the Egyptian legions of heavy-armed 
soldiers and archers. Here might be seen the black Ethi- 
opian with woolly matted hair, in which a few feathers 
were stuck — the handsome, well-proportioned “ son of 
the desert ” from the sandy Arabian shore of the Red Sea, 
who performed his wild war-dance, flourishing his lance, 
with a peculiar wriggle of his hips — pale Sardinians, with 
metal helmets and heavy swords — light-colored Libyans, 


* The different parts of dismembered chariots are represented 
as being carried on asses in the picture of the camp in the 
Ram esse um. 

f See Diodorus i, 47. Also the pictures of the king rushing to the 
fight. 


404 


UARDA. 


with tattooed arms, and ostrich-feathers on their heads — 
brown, bearded Arabs, worshipers of the stars, inseparable 
from their horses, and armed, some with lances, and some 
with bows and arrows. And not less various than their 
aspect were the tongues of the allied troops — but all obe- 
dient to the king’s word of command. 

In the midst of the royal tents was a lightly constructed 
temple with the statues of the gods of Thebes, and of the 
king’s forefathers; clouds of incense rose in front of it, 
for the priests were engaged from the eve of the battle 
until it was over, in prayers and offerings to Amon, the 
king of the gods, to Necheb, the goddess of victory, and 
to Menth, the god of war. 

The keeper of the lions stood by the Pharaoh’s sleeping 
tent, and the tent, which served as a council-chamber, 
was distinguished by the standards in front of it; but the 
council-tent was empty and still, while’ in the kitchen- 
tent, as well as in the wine-store close by, all was in a 
bustle. The large pavilion, in which Rameses and his 
suite were taking their evening meal, was more brilliantly 
lighted than all the others; it was a covered tent, a long 
square in shape, and all round it were colored lamps, 
which made it as light as day; a body-guard of Sardinians, 
Libyans, and Egyptians guarded it with drawn swords, 
and seemed too wholly absorbed with the importance of 
their office even to notice the dishes and wine-jars, which 
the king’s pages — the sons of the highest families in 
Egypt — took at the tent door from the cooks and the 
butlers. 

The walls and slanting roof of this quickly-built and 
moveable banqueting-hall, consisted of a strong, impene- 
trable carpet-stuff, woven at Thebes, and afterward dyed 
purple at Tanis by the Phoenicians. The cedar-wood pil- 
lars of the tent were covered with gold, and the ropes, 
which secured the light erection to the tent-pegs, were 
twisted of silk, and thin threads of silver.* Seated round 
four tables, more than a hundred men were taking their 
evening meal; at three of them the generals of the army. 


*Silk was certainly known in the time of the Ptolemies. The 
transparent bombyx tissues of Kos were celebrated. Pariset, Histoire 
de la Soie, 1862, 


UARDA. 


405 


the chief priests, and councillors, sat on light stools; 
at the fourth, and at some distance from the others, were 
the princes of the blood; and the king himself sat apart at 
a high table, on a throne supported by gilt figures of Asi- 
atic prisoners in chains. His table and throne stood on a 
low dais covered with panther-skin; but even without that 
Rameses would have towered above his companions. His 
form was powerful, and there was a commanding aspect in 
his bearded face, and in the high brow, crowned with a 
golden diadem adorned with the heads of two Uraeus- 
snakes, wearing the crowns of Upper and Lower Egypt. 
A broad collar of precious stones covered half his breast, 
the lower half was concealed by a scarf or belt, and his 
bare arms were adorned with bracelets. His finely pro- 
portioned limbs looked as 'if molded in bronze, so 
smoothly were the powerful muscles covered with the 
shining copper-colored skin. Sitting here among those 
who were devoted to him, he looked with kind and 
fatherly pride at his blooming sons. 

The lion was at rest — but nevertheless he was a lion, 
and terrible things might be looked for when he should 
rouse himself, and when the mighty hand, which now dis- 
pensed bread, should be clenched for the fight. There 
was nothing mean in this man, and yet nothing alarming; 
for, if his eye had a commanding sparkle, the expression 
of his mouth was particularly gentle; and the deep voice 
which could make itself heard above the clash of fighting 
men, could also assume the sweetest and most winning 
tones. His education had not only made him well aware 
of his greatness and power, but had left him also a 
genuine man, a stranger to none of the emotions of the 
human soul. 

Behind Pharaoh stood a man, younger than himself, 
who gave him his wine-cup after first touching it with his 
own lips; this was Mena, the king’s charioteer and favorite 
companion. His figure was slight and yet vigorous, supple 
and yet dignified, and his finely-formed features and frank 
bright eyes were full at once of self-respect and of benevo- 
lence. Such a man might fail in reflection and counsel, 
but would be admirable as au honorable, staunch and 
faithful friend. 


406 


UARDA. 


Among the princes, Chamus* sat nearest to the king; 
' he was the eldest of his sons, and while still young had 
been invested with the dignity of high-priest of Memphis. 
The curly -haired Rameri, who had been rescued from 
imprisonment — into which he had fallen on his journey 
from Egypt— had been assigned a place with the younger 
princes at the lowest end of the table. 

“ It all sounds very threatening!” said the king. “ But 
though each of you croakers speaks the truth, your love 
for me dims your sight. In fact, all that Rameri has told 
me, that Bent-Anat writes, that Mena's stud-keeper says 
of Ani, and that comes through other channels — amounts 
to nothing that need disturb us. I know your uncle— I 
know that he will make his borrowed throne as wide as he 
possibly can; but when we return home he will be quite 
content to sit on a narrow seat again. Great enterprises 
and daring deeds are not what he excels in; but he is very 
apt at carrying out a ready-made system, and, therefore, I 
chose him to be my regent.” 

“But Ameni,” said Chamus, bowing respectfully to his 
father, “seems to have stirred up his ambition, and to sup ■ 
port him with his advice. The chief of the House of Seti 
is a man of great ability, and at least half of the priest- 
hood are his adherents.” 

“ I know it,” replied the king. “Their lordships owe 
me a grudge because I have called their serfs to arms, and 
they want them to till their acres. A pretty sort of people 
they have sent me! their courage flies with the first arrow. 
They shall guard the camp to-morrow; they will be equal 
to that when it is made clear to their understanding that, 
if they let the tents be taken, the bread, meat and wine- 
skins will also fall into the hands of the enemy. If Kadesh 
is taken by storm, the temples of the Nile shall have the 
greater part of the spoil, and you yourself, my young high- 
priest of Memphis, shall show your colleagues that Raine- 
ses repays in bushels that which he has taken in handfuls 
from the ministers of the gods.” 


*Heis named Cha-em-Us on the monuments, i. e., “splendor in 
Tliebes.” He became the Sam, or high-priest of Memphis. His 
mummy was discovered by Mariette in the tomb of Apis at Saqqarah 
during his excavations of the Serapeum at Memphis. 


UARDA. 


407 


“ Amends disaffection, ” replied Chamus, “has a deeper 
root; a mighty spirit like his seeks and finds its own 
way ” 

“ But their lordships,” interrupted Rameses, “are ac- 
customed to govern the king too, and I— I do not do them 
credit. I rule as vicar of the Lord of the gods, but— I 
myself am no god, though they attribute to me the honors 
of a divinity; and in all humility of heart I willingly leave 
it to them to be the mediators between the immortals and 
me or my people. Human affairs certainly I choose to 
manage in my own way. And now no more of them. I 
cannot bear to doubt my friends, and trustfulness is so 
dear, so essential to me, that I must indulge in it even if 
my confidence results in my being deceived.” 

The king glanced at Mena, who handed him a golden cup 
— which he emptied. He looked round at the splendid com- 
pany, and then, with a flash of his grave bright eyes, he 
added : 

“ And if I am betrayed — if ten such as Ameni and Ani 
entice my people into a snare — I shall return home, and 
will tread the reptiles into dust.” 

His deep voice rang out the words, as if he were a 
herald proclaiming a victorious deed of arms. Not a word 
was spoken, not a hand moved, when he ceased speaking. 
Then he raised his cup, and said: 

“It is well before the battle to uplift our hearts! We 
have done great deeds; distant nations have felt our hand; 
we have planted our pillars of conquest by their rivers, and 
graven the record of our deeds on their rocks.* Your king 
is great above all kings, and it is through the might of the 
gods, and your valor — my brave comrades. May to- 
morrow's fight bring us new glory! May the immortals 
soon bring this war to a close! Empty your wine-cups 
with me — To victory and a speedy return home in peace!” 

“Victory! Victory! Long life to the Pharaoh! Strength 
and health!” cried the guests of the king, who, as he de- 
scended from his throne, cried to the drinkers: 

“ Now, rest till the star of Isis sets. Then follow me to 
prayer at the altar of Anion, and then — to battle.” 

* Herodotus speaks of the pictures graven on the rocks in the 
provinces conquered by Raineses II, in memory of his achievements. 
He saw two, one of which remains on a rock near Beyrut. 


408 


UARDA. 


Fresh cries of triumph sounded through the room, while 
Raineses gave his hand with a few words of encouragement 
to each of his sons in turn. He desired the two youngest, 
Mernephtah and Rameri, to follow him, and quitting the 
banquet with them and Mena, he proceeded, under the 
escort of his officers and guards, who bore staves before 
him with golden lilies and ostrich-feathers, to his sleeping- 
tent, which was surrounded by a corps d’elite under the 
command of his sons. Before entering the tent he asked 
for some pieces of meat, and gave them with his own hand 
to his lions, who let him stroke them like tame cats. Then 
he glanced round the stable, patted the sleek necks and 
shoulders of his favorite horses, and decided that ‘Nura’* * 
and ‘Victory to Thebes 9 should bear him into the battle 
on the morrow. 

When he had gone into the sleeping tent, he desired 
his attendants to leave him; he signed to Mena to divest 
him of his ornaments and his arms, and called to him his 
youngest sons, who were waiting respectfully at tire door 
of the tent. 

“Why did I desire you to accompany me?” he asked 
them, gravely. Both were silent, and he repeated his 
question. 

“ Because,” said Rameri at length, “you observed that 
all was not quite right between us two.” 

“And because,” continued the king, “I desire that 
unity should exist between my children. You will have 
enemies enough to fight with "to-morrow, but friends are 
not often to be found, and are too often taken from us by 
the fortune of war. We ought to feel no anger toward the 
friend we may lose, but expect to meet him lovingly in the 
other world. Speak, Rameri, what has caused a division 
between you ?” 

“I bear him no ill-will,” answered Rameri. “You 
lately gave me the sword which Mernephtah has there 
stuck in his belt, because I did my duty well in the last 
skirmish with the enemy. You know we both sleep in the 
same tent, and yesterday, when I drew my sword out of its 
sheath to admire the fine work of the blade, I found that 

another, not so sharp, had been put in its place.” 

*Tlie horses driven by liameses at the battle of Kadesh were in 
fact thus named. 


UAUDA. 


409 


“ I had only exchanged my sword for his in fun,” inter- 
rupted Mernephtah. “ But he can never take a joke, and 
declared I want to wear a prize that I had not earned; he 
would try, he said, to win another and then ” 

“ I have heard enough; you have both done wrong,” 
said the king.. “ Even in fun, Mernephtah, you should never 
cheat or deceive. I did so once, and I will tell you what 
happened, as a warning. 

“My noble mother, Tuaa, desired me, the first time I 
went into Fenchu* to bring her a pebble from the shore 
near Byblos, where the body of Osiris was washed. As we 
returned to Thebes, my mother’s request recurred to my 
mind; I was young and thoughtless — I picked up a stone 
by the way-side, took it with me, and when she asked me 
for the remembrance from Byblos I silently gave her the 
pebble from Thebes. She was delighted, she showed it to 
her brothers and sisters, and laid it by the statues of her 
ancestors; but I was miserable with shame and penitence, 
and at last I secretly took away the stone, and threw it 
into the water. All the servants were called together, 
and strict inquiry was made as to the theft of the 
stone; then I could hold out no longer, and confessed 
everything. No one punished me, and yet I never suf- 
fered more severely; from that time I have never deviated 
from the exact truth even in jest. Take the lesson to 
heart, Mernephtah — you, Kameri, take back your sword, 
and, believe me, life brings us so many real causes of vexa- 
tion that it is well to learn early to pass lightly over little 
things if you do not wish to become a surly fellow like the 
pioneer Paaker; and that seems far from likely with a gay, 
reckless temper like yours. Now shake hands with each 
other.” 

The young princes went up to each other, and Rameri 
fell on his brother’s neck and kissed him. The king 
stroked their heads. “ Now go in peace,” he said, “ and 
to-morrow you shall both strive to win a fresh mark of 
honor.” 

When his sons had left the tent Rameses turned to his 
charioteer and said i 

“I have to speak to you too before the battle. I can 


*Phcenicia; on monuments of the eighteenth dynasty. 


410 


UARJDA. 


read your soul through your eyes, and it seems to me that 
things have gone wrong with you since the keeper of your 
stud arrived here. What has happened in Thebes?” 

Mena looked frankly but sadly at the king: 

“My step-mother, Katuti,” he said, “is managing my 
estate very badly, pledging the land and selling the cattle.” 

“That can be remedied,” said Rameses, kindly. “You 
know I promised to grant you the fulfillment of a wish if 
Nefert trusted you as perfectly as you believe. But it 
appears to me as if something more nearly concerning you 
than this were wrong, for I never knew you anxious about 
money and lands. Speak openly; you know I am your 
father, and the heart and the eye of the man who leads my 
horse to battle must be open without reserve to my gaze.” 

Mena kissed the king's robe; then he said: 

“ Nefert has left Katuti’s house, and as thou knowest, 
has followed thy daughter, Bent-Anat, to the sacred 
mountain and to Megiddo.” 

“I thought the change was a good one,” replied 
Rameses. “ I leave Bent-Anat in the care of Bent-Anat, 
for she needs no other guardianship, and your wife can 
have no better protector than Bent-Anat.” 

“ Certainly not!” exclaimed Mena, with sincere empha- 
sis. “ But before they started miserable things occurred. 
Thou knowest that before she married me she was betrothed 
to her cousin, the pioneer Paaker, and he, during his stay 
in Thebes, has gone in and out of my house, has helped 
Katuti with an enormous sum to pay the debts of my wild 
brother-in-law, and — as my stud-keeper saw with his own 
eyes — has made presents of flowers to Nefert.” 

The king smiled, laid his hand on Mena’s shoulder, and 
said, as he looked in his face: “Your wife will trust you, 
although you take a strange woman into your tent, and 
you allow yourself to doubt her because her cousin gives 
her some flowers! Is that wise or just? I believe you are 
jealous of the broad-shouldered ruffian that^some spiteful 
wight laid in the nest of the noble Mohar, his father.” 

“No, that I am not,” replied Mena, “nor does any 
doubt of Nefert disturb my soul; but it torments me, it 
nettles me, it disgusts me, that Paaker of all men, whom 
I loathe as a venomous spider, should look at her and make 
her presents under my very roof.” 


VARDA. 


411 


“He who looks for faith must give faith,” said the king. 
“And niust not I myself submit to accept songs of praise 
from the most contemptible wretches ? Come, smooth 
your brow; think of the approaching victory, of our return 
home, and remember that you have less to forgive Paaker 
than he to forgive you. Now, pray go and see to the 
horses, and to-morrow morning let me see you on my 
chariot full of cheerful courage — as I love to see you.” 

Mena left the tent and went to the stables; there he met 
Rameri, who was waiting to speak to him. The eager boy 
said that he had always looked up to him and loved 
him as a brilliant example, but that lately he had been 
perplexed as to his virtuous fidelity, for he had been in- 
formed that Mena had taken a strange woman into his 
tent — he who was married to the fairest and sweetest 
woman in Thebes. 

“ I have spoken to you,” he concluded, “ as to a brother; 
for I know that she would die if she heard that you had 
insulted and disgraced her. Yes, insulted her; for such 
a public breach of faith is an insult to the wife of an 
Egyptian. Forgive my freedom of speech, but who knows 
what to-morrow may bring forth — and I would not for 
worlds go out to battle, thinking evil of you.” 

Mena let Rameri speak without interruption, and then 
answered: 

“ You are as frank as your father, and have learned 
from him to hear the defendant before you condemn him. 
A strange maiden, the daughter of the king of the Danaids,* 
lives in my tent, but I for months have slept at the door 
of your father's, and I have not once entered my own 
since she has been there. Now sit down by me, and let 
me tell you how it all happened. We had pitched the 
camp before Kadesh, and there was very little for me to 
do, as Rameses was still laid up with his wound, so I often 
passed my time in hunting on the shores of the lake. One 

* A people of the Greeks at the time of the Trojan war. They 
are mentioned among the nations of the Mediterranean allied against 
Kameses III. The Dardaneans, inhabitants of the Trojan provinces 
of Dardania, and whose name was used for the Trojans generally, 
are mentioned with the people of Pisidia (Pidasa), Mysia (Masa) and 
Ilion (Iliuna) as allies of the Cheta, in the Epos of Pentaur. It is 
probable that the princes of the islands near the coast of Asia Minor 
would form alliances with those of western Asia. 


412 


VARDA. 


clay I went as usual, armed only with my bow and arrow, 
and accompanied by my greyhounds, heedlessly followed 
a hare; a troop of Danaids fell upon me, bound me with 
cords, and led me into their camp. There I was led be- 
fore the judges as a spy, and they had actually condemned 
me, and the rope was round my neck, when their king 
came up, saw me, and subjected me to a fresh examina- 
tion. I told him the facts at full length — how I had fallen 
into the hands of his people while following up my game, 
and not as an enemy, and he heard me favorably, and 
granted me not only life but freedom. He knew me for a 
noble, and treated me as one, inviting me to feed at his 
own table, and I swore in my heart, when he let me go, 
that I would make him some return for his generous 
conduct. 

“ About a month after, we succeeded in surprising the 
Cheta position, and the Libyan soldiers, among other 
spoil, brought away the Danaid king’s only daughter. I 
had behaved valiantly, and when we came to the division 
of the spoils Rameses allowed me to choose first. I laid 
my hand on the maid, the daughter of my deliverer and 
host, I led her to my tent, and left her there with her 
waiting-women till peace is concluded, and I can restore 
her to her father.” 

“Forgive my doubts!” cried Rameri, holding out his 
hand. “No\\r I understand why the king so particularly 
inquired whether Nefert believed in your constancy to 

“And what was your answer?” asked Mena. 

“That she thinks of you day and night, and never for 
an instant doubted you. My father seemed delighted too, 
and he said to Chamus: ‘ He has won there!’” 

“He will grant me some great favor,” said Mena, in 
explanation, “ if, when she hears I have taken a strange 
maiden to my tent her confidence in me is not shaken, 
Rameses considers it simply impossible, but I know that I 
shall win. Why! she must trust me.” 


UABDA. 


413 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

Before the battle, prayers were offered and victims 
sacrificed for each division of the army. Images of the 
gods were borne through the ranks in their festal barks, 
and miraculous relics were exhibited to the soldiers; her- 
alds announced that the high-priest had found favorable 
omens in the victims offered by the king, and that the 
haruspices foretold a glorious victory. Each Egyptian 
legion turned with particular faith to the standard which 
bore the image of the sacred animal or symbol of the 
province where it had been levied, but each soldier was 
also provided with charms and amulets of various kinds; 
one had tied to his neck or arm a magical text in a little 
bag, another the mystic preservative eye, and most of them 
wore a scarabseus in a finger-ring. Many believed them- 
selves protected by having a few hairs or feathers of some 
sacred animal, and not a few put themselves under the 
protection of a living snake or beetle carefully concealed in 
a pocket of their apron or in their little provision-sack. 

When the king, before whom were carried the images of 
the divine Triad of Thebes, of Menth, the God of War 
and of Necheb, the Goddess of Victory, reviewed the 
ranks, he was borne in a litter on the shoulders of twenty- 
four noble youths; at his approach the whole host fell on 
their knees, and did not rise till Raineses, descending from 
his position, had, in the presence of them all, burned in- 
cense, and made a libation to the gods, and his son Chamus 
had delivered to him, in the name of the immortals, the 
symbols of life and power. Finally, the priests sang a 
choral hymn to the Sun-god Ra, and to his son and vicar 
on earth, the king. 

Just as the troops were put in motion, the paling stars 
appeared in the sky, which had hitherto been covered with 
thick clouds; and this occurrence was regarded as a favor- 
able omen, the priests declaring to the army that, as the 
coming Ra had dispersed the clouds, so the Pharaoh would 
scatter his enemies. 

With no sound of trumpet or drum, so as not to arouse 
the enemy, the foot-soldiers went forward in close order, 
the chariot warriors, each in his light two-wheeled chariot 


414 


UARDA. 


drawn by two horses, formed their ranks, and the king 
placed himself at their head. On each side of the gilt 
chariot in which he stood a case was fixed, glittering with 
precious stones, in which were his bows and arrows. His 
noble horses were richly caparisoned ; purple housings, 
embroidered with turquoise beads, covered their backs and 
necks, and a crown-shaped ornament was fixed on their 
heads, from which fluttered a bunch of white ostrich 
feathers. At the end of the ebony pole of the chariot were 
two small padded yokes, which rested on the necks of the 
horses, who pranced in front as if playing with the light 
vehicle, pawed the earth with their small hoofs and tossed 
and curved their slender necks. 

The king wore a shirt of mail, over which lay the 
broad purple girdle of his apron, and on his head was 
the crown of Upper and Lower Egypt; behind him stood 
Mena, who, with his left hand, tightly held the reins, and 
with his right the shield which was to protect his sovereign 
in the fight. 

The king stood like a storm-proof oak, and Mena by his 
side like a sapling ash. 

The eastern horizon was rosy with the approaching sun- 
rise when they quitted the precincts of the camp; at this 
moment the pioneer Paaker advanced to meet the king, 
threw himself on the ground before him, kissed the earth, 
and, in answer to the king's question as to why he had 
come without his brother, told him that Horns was taken 
suddenly ill. The shades of dawn concealed from the king 
the guilty color, which changed to sallow paleness, on the 
face of the pioneer — unaccustomed hitherto to lying and 
treason. 

(< How is it with the enemy?” asked Rameses. 

“ He is aware,” replied Paaker, “ that a fight is impend- 
ing, and is collecting numberless hosts in the camps to the 
south and east of the city. If thou couldst succeed in 
falling on the rear from the north of Kadesh, while the 
foot soldiers seize the camp of the Asiatics from the south, 
the fortress will be thine before night. The mountain 
path that thou must follow, so as not to be discovered, is 
not a bad one.” 

“ Are you ill as well as your brother, man?” asked the 
king. “ Your voice trembles.” 


UARDA. 


415 


“l was never better,” answered the Mohar. 

“ Lead the way,” commanded the king, and Paaker 
obeyed. They went on in silence, followed by the vast 
troop of chariots through the dewy morning air, first across 
the plain, and then into the mountain range. The corps 
of Ra, armed with bows and arrows, preceded them to 
clear the way; -they crossed the narrow bed of a dry torrent, 
and then a broad valley opened before them, extending to 
the right and left and inclosed by ranges of mountains. 

“The road is good,” said Rameses, turning to Mena. 
“ The Mohar has learned his duties from his father, and 
his horses are capital. Now he leads the way, and points 
it out to the guards, and then in a moment he is close to 
us again.” 

“ They are the golden-bays of my breed,” said Mena, and 
the veins started angrily in his forehead. “My stud- 
master tells me that Katuti sent them to him before his 
departure. They were intended for Nefert’s chariot, and 
he drives them to-day to defy and spite me.” 

“ You have the wife — let the horses go,” said Rameses, 
soothingly. 

Suddenly a blast of trumpets rang through the morning 
air; whence it came could not be seen, and yet it sounded 
close at hand. 

Rameses started up and took his battle-ax from his 
girdle, the horses pricked their ears, and Mena exclaimed: 

“ Those are the trumpets of the Cheta! I know the 
sound.” 

A closed wagon with four wheels in which the king's 
lions were conveyed, followed the royal chariot. 

“Let loose the lions!” cried the king, who heard an 
echoing war-cry, and soon after saw the vanguard which 
had preceded him, and which was broken up by the char- 
iots of the enemy, flying toward him down the valley 
again. 

The wild beasts shook their manes and sprang in front 
of their master's chariot with loud roars. Mena lashed 
his whip, the horses started forward and rushed with 
frantic plunges toward the fugitives, who, however, could 
not be brought to a stand-still, or rallied by the king's 
voice — the enemy were close upon them, cutting them 
down. 


416 


UARDA. 


“ Where is Paaker?” asked the king. But the pioneer 
had vanished as completely as if the earth had swallowed 
him and his chariot. 

The flying Egyptians and the death-dealing chariots 
of the enemy came nearer and nearer, the ground trem- 
bled, the tramp of hoofs and the roar of wheels sounded 
louder and louder, like the roll of a rapid-ly -approaching 
storm. 

Then Rameses gave out a war-cry, that rang back from 
the cliffs on the right hand and on the left like the blast 
of a trumpet; his chariot-guard joined in the shout — for 
an instant the flying Egyptians paused, but only to rush 
on again with double haste, in the hope of escape and 
safety ; suddenly the war-cry of the enemy was heard 
behind the king, mingling with the trumpet-call of the 
Cheta, and out from a cross-valley, which the king had 
passed unheeded by — and into which Paaker had disap- 
peared — came an innumerable host of chariots which, 
before the king could retreat, had broken through the 
Egyptian ranks, and cut him off from the body of his 
army. Behind him he could hear the roar and shock of 
the battle, in front of him he saw the fugitives, the fallen, 
and the enemy growing each instant in numbers and fury. 
He saw the whole danger, and drew up his powerful form 
as if to prove whether it were an equal match for such a 
foe. Then, raising his voice to such a pitch that it 
sounded above the cries and groans of the fighting men, 
the words of command, the neighing of the horses, the 
crash of the overthrown chariots, the dull whirr of lances 
and swords, their heavy blows on shields and helmets, and 
the whole bewildering tumult of the battle — with a loud 
shout he drew his bow, and his first arrow pierced a Cheta 
chief. 

His lions sprang forward, and carried confusion into 
the hosts that were crowding down upon him, for many of 
their horses became unmanageable at the roar of the 
furious brutes, overthrew the chariots, and so hemmed in 
the advance of the troops in the rear. Rameses sent arrow 
after arrow, while Mena covered him with the shield from 
the shots of the enemy. His horses meanwhile had carried 
him forward, and he could fell the foremost of the 
Asiatics with his battle-ax ; close by his side fought 


UARDA. 417 

Rameri and three other princes; in front of him were the 
lions. 

The press was fearful, and the raging of the battle wild 
and deafening, like the roar of the surging ocean when it 
is hurled by a hurricane against a rocky coast. 

Mena seemed to be in two places at once, for, while he 
guided the horses forward, backward, or to either hand, as 
the exigencies of the position demanded, not one of the 
arrows shot at the king touched him. His eye was every- 
where, the shield always ready, and not an eyelash of the 
young hero trembled, while Rameses, each moment more 
infuriated, incited his lions with wild war-cries, and with 
flashing eyes advanced further and further into the enemy’s 
ranks. 

Three arrows aimed, not at the king but at Mena him- 
self, were sticking in the charioteer’s shield, and by chance 
he saw written on the shaft of one of them the words 
“ Death to Mena.” 

A fourth arrow whizzed past him. His eye followed 
its flight, and as he marked the spot whence it had 
come, a fifth wounded his shoulder, and he cried out to 
the king: 

“ We are betrayed! Look over there! Paaker is fighting 
with the Cheta.” 

Once more the Mohar had bent his bow, and came so 
near to the king’s chariot that he could be heard exclaim- 
ing in a hoarse voice, as he let the bowstring snap, 
“Now I will reckon with you — thief! robber! My 
bride is your wife, but with this arrow I will win Mena’s 
widow.” 

The arrow cut through the air, and fell with fearful 
force on the charioteer’s helmet; the shield fell from his 
grasp, and he put his hand to his head, feeling stunned ; 
he heard Paaker’s laugh of triumph, he felt another of his 
enemy’s arrows cut his wrist, and, beside himself with 
rage, he flung away the reins, brandished his battle-ax, and 
forgetting himself and his duty, sprung from the chariot 
and rushed upon Paaker. The Mohar awaited him with 
uplifted sword; his lips were white, his eyes bloodshot, his 
wide nostrils trembled like those of an overdriven horse, 
and foaming and hissing he flew at his mortal foe. The 
king saw the two engaged in a struggle, but he could not 


418 


UARDA. 


interfere, for the reins which Mena had dropped were 
dragging on the ground, and his ungoverned horses, 
following the lions, carried him madly onward. 

Most of his comrades had fallen, the battle raged all 
round him, but Rameses stood as firm as a rock, held the 
shield in front of him, and swung the deadly battle-ax; he 
saw Rameri hastening toward him with his horses, the 
youth was fighting like a hero, and Rameses called 
out to encourage him : “ Well done! a worthy grandson 

of Seti!” 

“I will win a new sword !” cried the boy, and he cleft 
the skull of one of his antagonists. But he was soon sur- 
rounded by the chariots of the enemy; the king saw the 
enemy pull down the young princes horses, and all his 
comrades — among whom were many of the best warriors — 
turn their, horses in flight. 

Then one of the lions was pierced by a lance, and sank 
with a dying roar of rage and pain that was heard above 
all the tumult. The king himself had been grazed by an 
arrow, a sword stroke had shivered his shield, and his last 
arrow had been shot away. 

Still spreading death around him, he saw death closing 
in upon him, and, without giving up the struggle, he 
lifted up his voice in fervent prayer, calling on Amon for 
support and rescue. 

While thus in the sorest need he was addressing himself 
to the Lords of Heaven, a tall Egyptian suddenly appeared 
in the midst of the struggle and turmoil of the battle, 
seized the reins, and sprung into the chariot behind the 
king, to whom he bowed respectfully. For the first time 
Rameses felt a thrill of fear. Was this a miracle? Had 
Amon heard his prayer? 

He looked half fearfully round at his- new charioteer, 
and when he fancied he recognized the features of the 
deceased Mohar, the father of the traitor Paaker, he 
believed that Amon had assumed this aspect, and had come 
himself to save him. 

“ Help is at hand!” cried his new companion. “If we 
hold our own for only a short time longer, thou art saved, 
and victory is ours.” 

Then once more Rameses raised his war-cry, felled a 
Cheta, who was standing close by him, to the ground with 


UARDA. 


419 


a blow on his skull, while the mysterious supporter by his 
side, who covered him with the shield, on his part also 
dealt many terrible strokes. 

Thus some long minutes passed in renewed strife; then 
a trumpet sounded above the roar of the battle, and this 
time Rameses recognized the call of the Egyptians; from 
behind a low ridge on his right rushed some thousands of 
men of the foot-legion of Ptah who, under the command 
of Horns, fell upon the enemy's flank. They saw their 
king, and the danger he was in. They flung themselves 
with fury on the foes that surrounded him, dealing death 
as they advanced, and putting the Cheta to flight, and 
soon Rameses saw himself safe, and protected by his 
followers. 

But his mysterious friend in need had vanished, lie 
had been hit by an arrow, and had fallen to the earth — a 
quite mortal catastrophe; but Rameses still believed that 
one of the immortals had come to his rescue. 

But the king granted no long respite to his horses and 
his fighting-men; he turned to go back by the way by 
which he had come, fell upon the forces which divided him 
from the main army, took them in the rear while they 
were still occupied with his chariot-brigade which was 
already giving way, and took most of the Asiatics pris- 
oners who escaped the arrows and swords of the Egyptians. 
Having rejoined the main body of the troops, he pushed 
forward across the plain where the Asiatic horse and 
chariot-legions were engaged with the Egyptian swords- 
men, and forced the enemy back upon the river Orontes 
and the lake of Kadesh. Night-fall put an end to the 
battle, though early next morning the struggle was renewed. 

Utter discouragement had fallen upon the Asiatic allies, 
who had gone into battle in full security of victory; for the 
pioneer Paaker had betrayed his king into their hands. 

When the Pharaoh had set out, the best chariot- warriors 
of the Cheta were drawn up in a spot concealed by the 
city, and sent forward against Rameses through the northern 
opening of the valley by which he was to pass, while other 
troops of approved valor, in all two thousand five hundred 
chariots, were to fall upon him from a cross-valley where 
they took up their position during the night. 

These tactics had been successfully carried out, and not- 


420 


UARDA. 


withstanding the Asiatics had suffered a severe defeat — 
besides losing some of their noblest heroes, among them 
Titure, their chancellor, and Chiropasar,* the chronicler of 
the Cheta king, who could wield the sword as effectively 
as the pen, and who, it was intended, should celebrate the 
victory of the allies, and perpetuate its glory to succeeding 
generations. Rameses had killed one of these with his 
own hands, and his unknown companion the other, and 
besides these many other brave captains of the enemy's 
troops. The king was greeted as a god, when he returned 
to the camp, with shouts of triumph and hymns of praise. 

Even the temple-servants, and the miserable troops 
from Upper Egypt — ground down by the long war, and 
bought over by Ani — were carried away by the universal 
enthusiasm, and joyfully hailed the hero and king who 
had successfully broken the stiff necks of his enemies. 

The next duty was to seek out the dead and wounded; 
among the latter was Mena; Rameri also was missing, but 
news was brought next day that he had fallen into the 
hands of the enemy, and he was immediately exchanged 
for the princess who had been sheltered in Mena's tent. 

Paaker had disappeared; but the bays which he had 
driven into the battle were found unhurt in front of his 
ruined and blood-sprinkled chariot. 

The Egyptians were masters of Kadesh, and Chetasar, 
the king of the Cheta, sued to be allowed to treat for 
peace, in his own name and in that of his allies; but Rain- 
eses refused to grant any terms till he had returned to the 
frontier- of Egypt. The conquered peoples had no choice, 
and the representative of the Cheta king — who himself was 
wounded — and twelve princes of the principal nations 
who had fought against Rameses, were forced to follow his 
victorious train. Every respect was shown them, and they 
were treated as the king himself, but they were none the 
less his prisoners. The king was anxious to lose no time, 
for sad suspicion filled his heart; a shadow hitherto un- 
known to his bright and genial nature had fallen upon his 
spirit. 

This was the first occasion on which one of his own 


* These names and titles occur as those of fallen Chetas on the 
pylon of the Ramesseum. 


UABDA. 


m 


people had betrayed him to the enemy. Paaker’s deed had 
shaken his friendly confidence, and in his petition for 
peace the Cheta prince had intimated that Raineses might 
find much in his household to be set to rights — perhaps 
with a strong hand. 

The king felt himself more than equal to cope with Ani, 
the priests, and all whom he had left in Egypt; but it 
grieved him to be obliged to feel any loss of confidence, 
and it was harder to him to bear than any reverse of fort- 
une. It urged him to hasten his return to Egypt. 

There was another thing which embittered his victory* 
Mena, whom he loved as his own son, who understood his 
lightest sign, who, as soon as he mounted his chariot, was 
there by his side like a part of himself — had been dis- 
missed from his office by the judgment of the commander- 
in-chief, and no longer drove his horses. He himself had 
been obliged to confirm this decision as just and even mild, 
for that man was worthy of death who exposed his king to 
danger for the gratification of his own revenge. 

Rameses had not seen Mena since his struggle with 
Paaker, but he listened anxiously to the news which was 
brought him of the progress of his sorely wounded officer. 

The cheerful, decided and practical nature of Rameses 
was averse to every kind of dreaminess or self-absorption, 
and no one had ever seen him, even in hours of extreme 
weariness, give himself up to vague and melancholy brood- 
ing; but now he would often sit gazing at the ground in 
rapt meditation, and start like an awakened sleeper when 
his reverie was disturbed by the requirements of the outer 
world around him. A hundred times before he had looked 
death in the face, and defied it as he would any other 
enemy, but nowitseemed as though he felt the cold hand of 
the mighty adversary on his heart. He could not forget the 
oppressive sense of helplessness which had seized him when 
he had felt himself at the mercy of the unrestrained horses, 
like a leaf driven by the wind, and then suddenly saved by 
a miracle. 

A miracle? Was it really Amon who had appeared in 
human form at his call? Was he indeed a son of the gods, 
and did their blood flow in his veins? 

The immortals had shown him peculiar favor, but still 
he was but a man; that he realized from the pain in his 


UARDA. 


m 

wound and the treason to which lie had been a victim. 

He felt as if he had been respited on the very scatfold. 
Yes, he was a man like all other men, and so he would still 
be. He rejoiced in the obscurity that veiled his future, in 
the many weaknesses which he had in common with those 
whom he loved, and even in the feeling that he, under the 
same conditions of life as his contemporaries, had more . 
responsibilities than they. 

Shortly after his victory, after all the important passes 
and strongholds had been conquered by his troops, he set 
out for Egypt with his train and the vanquished princes. 

He sent two of his sons to Bent-Anat at Megiddo, to escort 
her by sea to Pelusium; he knew that the commandant of 
the harbor of that frontier fortress, at the easternmost 
limit of his kingdom, was faithful to him, and he ordered 
that his daughter should not quit the ship till he arrived 
to secure her against any attempt on the part of the regent. 

A large part of the material of war, and most of the 
wounded, were also sent to Egypt by sea. 


CHAPTER XL. 

Nearly three months had passed since the battle of 
Kadesh, and to-day the king was expected, on his way 
honje with his victorious army, at Pelusium, the strong- 
hold and key of Egyptian dominion in the east.' Splendid 
preparations had been made for his reception, and the man 
who took the lead in the festive arrangements with a zeal 
that was doubly effective from his composed demeanor was 
no less a person than the Regent Ani. 

His chariot was to be seen everywhere: now he was with 
the workmen, who were to decorate triumphal arches with 
fresh flowers; now with the slaves, who were hanging gar- 
lands on the wooden lions erected on the road for this great 
occasion; now — and this detained him longest — he watched 
the progress of the immense palace which was being rap- 
idly constructed of wood on the site where formerly the 
camp of the Hyksos had stood,* in which the actual cere- 


* Pelusium is the Abaris of Manetho, traces of the ancient walls 
with fort-like projections still remain. According to Strabo its name 
was derived from “ pelos,” meaning the mud or marsh city. 


UARDA. 


423 


mony of receiving the king was to take place, and where 
the Pharaoh and his immediate followers were to reside. 
It had been found possible, by employing several thousand 
laborers, to erect this magnificent structure in a few 
weeks,* and nothing was lacking to it that could be 
desired, even by a king so accustomed as Rameses to 
luxury and splendor. A high exterior flight of steps led 
from the garden — which had been created out of a waste — 
to the vestibule, out of which the banqueting-hall opened. 

This was of unusual height, and had a vaulted wooden 
ceiling, which was painted blue and sprinkled with stars, 
to represent the night heavens, and which was supported 
on pillars carved, some in the form of date-palms, and 
some like cedars of Lebanon; the leaves and twigs con- 
sisted of artfully fastened and colored tissue; elegant fes- 
toons of bluish gauze were stretched from pillar to pillar 
across the hall, and in the center of the eastern wall they 
were attached to a large shell-shaped canopy extending 
over the throne of the king, which was decorated with 
pieces of green and blue glass, of mother of pearl, of shin- 
ing plates of mica, and other sparkling objects. 

Tlie throne itself had the shape of a buckler, guarded 
by two lions, which rested on each side of it and formed 
the arms, and supported on the backs of four Asiatic cap- 
tives who crouched beneath its weight. Thick carpets, 
which seemed to have transported the sea-shore on to the 
dry land — for their pale blue ground was strewn with a 
variety of shells, fishes, and water plants — covered the 
floor of the banqueting-hall, in which three hundred seats 
were placed by the tables, for the nobles of the kingdom 
and the officers of the troops. 

Above all this splendor hung a thousand lamps, shaped 
like lilies and tulips, and in the entrance hall stood a huge 
basket of roses to be strewn before the king when he 
should arrive. 

Even the bedrooms for the king and his suite were 

* Herodotus speaks of this wooden palace as having been built at 
Daphnae ; Diodorus at Pelusium. I cannot agree with those who 
think that the conspiracy of the regent occurred under Rameses 
III, and not under Rameses II Sesostris. No doubt there was a petty 
conspiracy in the time of Rameses III to place the king’s brother on 
the throne, but these palace-plots are spoken of elsewhere and were 
not infrequent. 


m 


UARDA. 


splendidly decorated ; finely embroidered purple stuffs 
covered the walls, a light cloud of pale-blue gauze hung 
across the ceiling, and giraffe skins were laid instead of 
carpets on the floors. 

The barracks intended for the soldiers and body-guard 
stood nearer to the city, as well as the stable buildings, 
which were divided from the palace by the garden which 
surrounded it. A separate pavilion, gilt and wreathed 
with flowers, was erected to receive the horses which had 
carried the king through the battle, and which he had 
dedicated to the Sun-god. 

The Regent Ani, accompanied by Katuti, was going 
through the whole of these slightly-built structures. 

“ It seems to me all quite complete,” said the widow. 

“Only one thing I cannot make up my mind about,” 
replied Ani, “ whether most to admire your inventive 
genius or your exquisite taste.” 

“Oh! let that pass,” said Katuti, smiling. “If any 
thing deserves your praise it is my anxiety to serve you. 
How many things had to be considered before this struct- 
ure at last stood complete on this marshy spot where the 
air seemed alive with disgusting insects — and now it is 
finished how long will it last?” 

Ani looked down. “How long?” he repeated. 

Then he continued: “There is great risk already of the 
plot miscarrying. Ameni has grown cool, and will stir no 
further in the matter; the troops on which I counted are 
perhaps still faithful to me, but much too weak; the 
Hebrews, who tend their flocks here, and whom I gained 
over by liberating Miem from forced labor, have never 
borne arms. And you know the people. They will kiss 
the feet of the conqueror if they have to wade up to them 
through the blood of their children. Besides — as it 
happens — the hawk which old Hekt keeps as representing 
me is to-day pining and sick ” 

“ It will be all the prouder and brighter to-morrow if 
you are a man!” exclaimed Katuti, and her eyes sparkled 
with scorn. “ You cannot now retreat. Here in Pelu- 
sium you welcome Rameses as if he were a god, and he 
accepts the honor. I know the king; he is too proud to 
be distrustful, and so conceited that he can never believe 
himself deceived in any man, either friend or foe. The 


UARDA. 


425 

man whom he appointed to be his regent, whom he desig- 
nated as the worthiest in the land, he will most unwill- 
ingly condemn. To-day you still have the ear of the king; 
to-morrow he will listen to your enemies, and too much 
has occurred in Thebes to be blotted out. You are in the 
position of a lion who has his keeper on one side, and the 
bars of his cage on the other. If you let the moment 
pass without striking you will remain in the cage; but if 
you act and show yourself a lion your keepers are done 
for!” 

“ You urge me on and on,” said Ani. “ But suppos- 
ing your plan were to fail, as Paaker’s well-considered plot 
failed ?” 

“ Then you are no worse off than you are now,” answered 
Katuti. “ The gods rule the elements, not men. Is it 
likely that you should finish so beautiful a structure with 
such care only to destroy it ? And we have no accom- 
plices, and need none.” 

“But who shall set the brand to the room which Nema 
and the slave have filled with straw and pitch ?” asked 
Ani. 

“I,” said Katuti, decidedly. “And one who has noth- 
ing to look for from Rameses.” 

“ Who is that?” 

“ Paaker.” 

“Is the Mohar here?” asked the regent, surprised. 

“You yourself have seen him.” 

“ You are mistaken,” said Ani. “ I should ” 

“ Do you recollect the one-eyed, gray-haired black man, 
who yesterday brought me a letter? That was my sister’s 
son.” 

The regent struck his forehead: “Poor wretch!” he 
muttered. 

“ He is frightfully altered,” said Katuti. “ He need 
not have blackened his face, for his own mother would 
not know him again. He lost an eye in his fight with 
Mena, who also wounded him in the lungs with a thrust 
of his sword so that he breathes and speaks with difficulty, 
his broad shoulders have lost their flesh, and the fine legs 
he swaggered about on have shrunk as thin as a negro’s. I 
let him pass as my servant without any hesitation or mis- 
giving. He does not yet know of my purpose, but I 


426 


UARDA. 


am sure that he would help us if a thousand deaths 
threatened him. For God’s sake put aside all doubts and 
fears! We will shake the tree for you, if you will only 
hold out your hand to-morrow to pick up the fruit. 
Only one thing I must beg. Command the head butler 
not to stint the wine, so that the guards may give us no 
trouble. I know that you gave the order that only three 
of the five ships which brought the contents of your wine- 
lofts should be unloaded. I should have thought that 
the future king of Egypt might have been less anxious to 
save!” 

Katuti’s lips curled with contempt as she spoke the last 
words. Ani observed this and said: 

“You think I am timid! Well, I confess I would far 
rather that much which I have done at your instigation 
could be undone. I would willingly renounce this new 
plot, though we so carefully planned it when we built and 
decorated this palace. I will sacrifice the wine; there are 
jars of wine there that were old in my father’s time— but 
it must be so ! You are right ! Many things have 
occurred which the king will not forgive! You are right, 
you are right — do what seems good to you. I will retire 
after the feast to the Ethiopian camp.” 

“ They will hail you as king as soon as the usurpers 
have fallen in the flames,” cried Katuti. “ If only a few 
set the example, the others will take up the cry, and even 
though you have offended Ameni he will attach himself to 
you rather than to Rameses. Here he comes, and I already 
see the standards in the distance.” 

“ They are coming!” said the regent. “ One thing 
more! Pray see yourself that the Princess Bent- Ana t 
goes to the rooms intended for her; she must not be 
injured.” 

“Still Bent-Anat?” said Katuti, with a smile full of 
meaning but without bitterness. “ Be easy, her rooms are 
on the ground floor, and she shall be warned in time.” 

Ani turned to leave her; he glanced once more at the 
great hall, and said with a sigh. “ My heart is heavy — I 
wish this day and this night were over!” 

•“ You are like this grand hall,” said Katuti, smiling, 
“which is now empty, almost dismal; but this evening, 
when it is crowded with guests, it will look very different. 


TTARDA. 


427 

You were born to be a king, and yet are not a king; you 
will not be quite yourself till the crown and scepter are 
your own.” 

Ani smiled too, thanked her, and left her; but Katuti 
said to herself: 

“ Bent-Anat may burn with the rest; I have no intention 
of sharing my power with her!” 

Crowds of men and women from all parts had thronged 
to Pelusium, to welcome the conqueror and his victorious 
army on the frontier.* Every great temple-college had 
sent a deputation to meet Raineses, that from the 
Necropolis consisting of five members, with Ameni and 
old Gagabu at their head. The white-robed ministers of 
the gods marched in solemn procession toward the bridge 
which lay across the eastern — Pelusiac — arm of the Nile, 
and led to Egypt proper — the land fertilized by the waters 
of the sacred stream, f 

The deputation from the temple of Memphis led the 
procession; this temple had been founded by Mena, the 
first king who wore the united crowns of Upper and Lower 
Egypt, and Chamus, the king's son, was the high priest. 
The deputation from the not less important temple of 
Heliopolis came next, and was followed by the representa- 
tives of the Necropolis of Thebes. 

A few only of the members of these deputations wore 
the modest white robe of the simple priest; most of them 
were invested with the panther-skin which was worn by 
the prophets. Each bore a staff decorated with roses, 
lilies and green branches, and many carried censers in the 
form of a golden arm with incense in the hollow of the 
hand, to be burnt before the king. Among the deputies 
from the priesthood at Thebes were several women of 
high rank, who served in the worship of this god, and 
among them was Katuti, who by the particular desire of the 


* A fine picture of such a festival, in honor of the father of this 
king when he returned from Syria, still exists on the north/ wall of 
the Temple of Karnak. 

f According to Herodotus, the oracle of Amon declared to the 
inhabitants of Marca and Apis that all the land watered by the inun- 
dations of the Nile was Egypt. 


428 


UARDA. 


regent had lately been admitted to this noble sister- 
hood.* 

Ameni walked thoughtfully by the side of the prophet 
Gagabu. 

“ How differently everything has happened from what 
we hoped and intended !” said Gagabu, in a low voice. 
“ We are like embassadors with sealed credentials — who 
can tell their contents?” 

“I welcome Rameses heartily and joyfully,” said Ameni. 
“After that which happened to him at Kadesh he will 
come home a very different man to what he was when he 
set out. He knows now what he owes to Anion. His 
favorite son was already at the head of the ministers of 
the temple at Memphis, and he has vowed to build mag- 
nificent temples and to bring splended offerings to the im- 
mortals. > And Rameses keeps his word better than- that 
smiling simpleton in the chariot yonder.” 

“ Still I am sorry for Ani,” said Gagabu. 

“The Pharaoh will not punish him — certainly not,” 
replied the high-priest. “And he will have nothing to 
fear from Ani; he is a feeble reed, the powerless sport of 
every wind.” 

“And yet you hoped for great things from him!” 

“Not from him, but through him — with 11s for his 
guides,” replied Ameni, in a low voice, but with emphasis. 
“It is his own fault that I have abandoned his cause. Our 
first wish — to spare the poet Pentaur — he would not re- 
spect, and he did not hesitate to break his oath, to betray 
us, and to sacrifice one of the noblest of God’s creatures, 
as the poet was, to gratify a petty grudge. It is harder to 
fight against cunning weakness than against honest enmity. 
Shall we reward the man who has deprived the world of 
Pentaur by giving him a crown? It is hard to quit the 
trodden way, and seek a better — to give up a half-exe- 
cuted plan and take a more promising one; it is hard, 1 
say, for the individual man, and makes him seem fickle in 
the eyes of others; but we cannot see to the right hand and 




* The so-called Pallakidai, whom we frequently hear of as devote 1 
to the service of Amon but sometimes also to that of the goddesses 
Isis and Bast. Although they are called Virgins on the tablet of 
Tanis they were frequently married, and there is no reason why 
Katuti should not have belonged to them. 


UARDA. 


429 


the left, and if we pursue a great end we cannot remain 
within the narrow limits which are set by law and custom 
to the actions of private individuals. We draw back just 
as we seem to have reached the goal, we let him fall whom 
we had raised, and lift him, whom we had stricken to the 
earth, to the pinnacle of glory, in short we profess — and 
for thousands of years have professed — -the doctrine that 
every path is aright one that leads to the great end of 
securing to the priesthood the supreme power in the land. 
Rameses, l ^ed by a miracle, vowing temples to the gods, 
will for the future exhaust his restless spirit not in battle 
as a warrior, but in building as an architect. He will 
make use o' us, and we can lead the man who needs us. 
So I now hail the son of Seti with sincere joy.” 

Ameni was still speaking when the flags were hoisted on 
the standards by the triumphal arches, clouds of dust 
rolled up on the further shore of the Nile, and the blare of 
trumpets was heard. 

First came the horses which had carried Rameses 
through the fight, with the king himself, who drove them. 
His eyes sparkled with joyful triumph as the people on the 
further side of the bridge received him with shouts of joy, 
and the vast multitude hailed him with wild enthusiasm 
and tears of emotion, strewing in his path the spoils of 
their gardens — flowers, garlands, and palin-branches. 

Ani marched at the head of the procession that went 
forth to meet him; he humbly threw himself in the dust 
before the horses, kissed the ground, and then presented 
to the king the scepter that had been intrusted to him, 
lying on a silk cushion. The king received it graciously, 
and when Ani took his robe to kiss it, the king bent down 
toward him, and touching the regent’s forehead with his 
lips, desired him to take the place by his side in the 
chariot and fill the office of charioteer. 

The king’s eyes were moist with grateful emotion. He 
had not been deceived, and he could re-enter the country 
for whose greatness and welfare alone he lived, as a father, 
loving and beloved, and not as a master to judge and pun- 
ish. He was deeply moved as he accepted the greetings of 
the priests, and with them offered up a public prayer. 
Then he was conducted to the splendid structure which 
had been prepared for him, gayly mounted the outside 


430 


TJARDA. 


steps, and from the topmost stair bowed to his innumer- 
able crowd of subjects; and while he awaited the procession 
from the harbor which escorted Bent-Anat in her litter, 
he inspected the thousand decorated bulls and antelopes 
which were to be slaughtered as a thank-offering to the 
gods, the tame lions and leopards, the rare trees in whose 
branches perched gayly colored birds, the giraffes, and 
chariots to which ostriches were harnessed, which all 
marched past him in a long array. 

Rameses embraced his daughter before all the people; 
he felt as if he must admit his subjects to the fullest sym- 
pathy in the happiness and deep thankfulness which filled 
his soul. His favorite child had never seemed to him so 
beautiful as this day, and he realized with deep emotion 
her strong resemblance to his lost wife.* 

Nefert had accompanied her royal friend u,s fan-bearer, 
and she knelt before the king while he gave himself up to 
the delight of meeting his daughter. Then he observed 
her, and kindly desired her to rise. “How much,” he 
said, “I am feeling to-day for the first time! I have 
already learned that what I formerly thought of as the high- 
est happiness is capable of a yet higher pitch, and I now 
perceive that the most beautiful is capable of growing to 
greater beauty! A sun has grown from Mena's star.” 

Rameses, as he spoke, remembered his charioteer; for a 
moment his brow was clouded, and he cast down his eyes, 
and bent his head in thought. 

Bent-Anat well knew this gesture of her father's: it was 
the omen of some kindly, often sportive suggestion, such 
as he loved to surprise his friends with. 

He reflected longer than usual; at last he looked up, and 
his full eyes rested lovingly on his daughter as he asked 
her: 

“What did your friend say when she heard that her 
husband had taken a pretty stranger into his tent, and 
harbored her there for months? Tell me the whole truth 
of it, Bent-Anat* ” 

“lam indebted to this deed of Mena's, which must cer- 
tainly be quite excusable if you can smile when you speak 
of it,” said the princess, “ for it was the cause of his wife's 


* Her name was Isis Nefert. 


VARDA 


431 


coming to me. Her mother blamed her husband with 
bitter severity, but she would not cease to believe in him, 
and left her house because it was impossible to her to 
endure to hear him blamed.” 

“ Is this the fact?” asked Rameses. 

Nefert bowed her pretty head, and two tears ran down 
her blushing cheeks. 

“How good a man must he be,” cried the king, “on 
whom the gods bestow such happiness! My lord cham- 
berlain, inform Mena that I require his services at dinner 
to-day — as before the battle at Kadesh. He flung away 
the reins in the fight when he saw his enemy, and we shall 
see if he can keep from flinging down the beaker when, 
with his own eyes, he sees his beloved wife sitting at the 
table. You ladies will join me at the banquet.” 

Kefert sank on her knees before the king; but he turned 
from her to speak to the nobles and officers who had come 
to meet him, and then proceeded to the temple to assist at 
the slaughter of the victims, and to solemnly renew his 
vow in the presence of the priests and the people, to erect 
a magnificent temple in Thebes as a thank offering for his 
preservation from death. He was received with rapturous 
enthusiasm; his road led to the harbor, past the tents in 
which lay the wounded, who had been brought home to 
Egypt by ship, and he greeted them graciously from his 
chariot. 

Ani again acted as his charioteer; they drove slowly 
through the long ranks of invalids and convalescents, but 
suddenly Ani gave the reins an involuntary pull, tlie 
horses reared, and it was with difficulty that he soothed 
them to a steady pace again. 

Rameses looked round in anxious surprise, for at the 
moment when the horses had started, he too had felt an 
agitating thrill — he thought he had caught sight of his 
preserver at Kadesh. 

Had the sight of a god struck terror into the horses? 
Was he the victim of a delusion? or was his preserver a 
man of flesh and blood, who had come home from the 
battle-field among the wounded? 

The man who stood by his side, and held the reins, 
could have informed him, for Ani had recognized Pen- 
taur, and in his horror had given the reins a perilous 
jerk. 


432 


UARDA. 


CHAPTER XLI. 

The king did not return to the great pavilion till after 
sundown; the banqueting-hall, illuminated with a thou- 
sand lamps, was now filled with the gay crowd of guests 
who awaited the arrival of the king. All bowed before 
him, as he entered, more or less low, each according 
to his rank; he immediately seated himself on his throne, 
surrounded by his children in a wide semicircle, and his 
officers and retainers all passed before him; for each he had 
a kindly word or glance, winning respect from all, and 
filling every one with joy and hope. 

“ The only really divine attribute of my royal condition," 
said he to himself, “ is that it is so easy to a king to make 
men happy. My predecessors chose the poisonous Uraeus 
as the emblem of their authority, for we can cause death 
as quickly and certainly as the venomous snake; but the 
power of giving happiness dwells on our own lips, and in 
our own eyes, and we need some instrument when we 
decree death." 

“Take the Urasus crown from my head," he continued 
aloud, as he seated himself at the feast. “To-day I will 
wear a wreath of flowers." 

During the ceremony of bowing to the king, two men 
had quitted the hall — the Regent Ani, and the high-priest 
Ameni. 

Ani ordered a small party of the watch to go and seek 
out the priest Pentaur in the tents of the wounded by the 
harbor, to bring the poet quietly to his tent, and to guard 
him there till his return. He still had in his possession 
the maddening potion, which he was to have given to the 
captain of the transport-boat, and it was open to him still 
to receive Pentaur either as a guest or as a prisoner. Pen- 
taur might injure him, whether KatutPs project failed or 
succeeded. 

Ameni left the pavilion to go to see old Gagabu, who 
had stood so long in the heat of the sun during the cere- 
mony of receiving the conqueror that he had been at last 
carried fainting to the tent which he shared with the high- 
priest, and which was not far from that of the regent. He 
found the old man much revived, and was preparing to 


UARDA. 


433 


rrKmnt his chariot to go to the banquet, when the regent’s 
myrmidons led Pentaur past in front of him. Ameni 
looked doubtfully at the tall and noble figure of the pris- 
oner, but Pentaur recognized him, called him by his name, 
and in a moment they stood together, hand clasped in 
hand. The guards showed some uneasiness, but Ameni 
explained who he was. 

The high-priest was sincerely rejoiced at the preserva- 
tion and restoration of his favorite disciple, whom for 
many months he had mourned as dead; he looked at his 
manly figure with fatherly tenderness, and desired the 
guards, who bowed to his superior dignity, to conduct his 
friend, on his responsibility, to his tent instead of to Ani’s. 

There Pentaur found his old friend Gagabu, who wept 
with delight at his safety. All that his master had 
accused him of seemed to be forgotten. Ameni had him 
clothed in a fresh white robe — he was never tired of looking 
at him, and over and over again clapped his hand upon his 
shoulder, as if he were his own son that had been lost and 
found again. 

Pentaur was at once required to relate all that had 
happened to him, and the poet told the story of his cap- 
tivity and liberation at Mount Sinai, his meeting with 
Bent'Anat, and how he had fought in the battle of Kadesh, 
had been wounded by an arrow, and found and rescued 
by the faithful Kaschta. He concealed only his passion 
for Bent-Anat, and the fact that he had preserved the 
king’s life. 

“About an hour ago,” he added, “I was sitting alone 
in my tent, watching the lights in the palace yonder, when 
the watch who are outside brought me an order from the 
regent to accompany them to his tent. What can he want 
with me? I always thought he owed me a grudge.” 

Gagabu and Ameni glanced meaningly at each other, 
and the high-priest then hastened away, as already he had 
remained too long from the banquet. Before he got 
into his chariot he commanded the guard to return to their 
posts, and took it upon himself to inform the regent that 
his guest would remain in his tent till the festival was 
over; the soldiers unhesitatingly obeyed him. 

Ameni arrived at the palace before them, and entered 
the banqueting-hall just as Ani was assigning a place to 


434 


UARDA. 


each of his guests. The high-priest went straight up to 
him, and said, as ho bowed before him: 

“ Pardon my long delay, but I was detained by a great 
surprise. The poet Pentaur is living — as you know. I 
have invited him to remain in my tent as my guest, and 
to tend the prophet Gagabu.” 

The regent turned pale, he remained speechless and 
looked at Ameni with a cold, ghastly smile; but he soon 
recovered himself. 

“You see,” he said, “how you have injured me by your 
unworthy suspicions ; I meant to have restored your 
favorite to you myself to-morrow.” 

“Forgive me, then, for having anticipated your plan,” 
said Ameni, taking his seat near the king. 

Hundreds of slaves hurried to and fro loaded with costly 
dishes. Large vessels of richly wrought gold and silver 
were brought into the hall on wheels, and set on the side- 
boards. Children were perched in the shells and lotus- 
flowers that hung from the painted rafters; and from 
between the pillars, that were hung with cloudy trans- 
parent tissues, they threw roses and violets down on the 
company. The sound of harps and songs issued from 
concealed rooms, and from an altar, six ells high, in 
the middle of the hall, clouds of incense were wafted into 
space. 

The king — one of whose titles was “Son of the Sun,” — 
was as radiant as the sun himself. His children were once 
more around him, Mena was his cup-bearer as in former 
times, and all that was best and noblest in the land was 
gathered round him to rejoice with him in his triumph 
and his return. Opposite to him sat the ladies, and 
exactly in front of him, a delight to his eyes, Bent- 
Anat and Nefert. His injunction to Mena to hold the 
wine-cup steadily seemed by no means superfluous, for 
his looks constantly wandered from the king’s goblet to 
his fair wife, from whose lips he as yet had heard no word 
of welcome, whose hand he had not yet been so happy as 
to touch. 

All the guests were in the most joyful excitement. 
Rameses related the tale of his fight at Kadesh, and the 
high-priest of Heliopolis observed: “In later times the 
poets will sing of thy deeds.” 




I 




UARDA. 


435 


“ Their songs will not be of my achievements,” 
exclaimed the king, “but of the grace of the Divinity, 
who so miraculously rescued your sovereign, and 
gave the victory to the Egyptians over an innumerable 
enemy.” 

“ Did you see the god with your own eyes? and in what 
form did he appear to you?” asked Bent-Anat. 

“ It is most extraordinary,” said the king, “ but -he 
exactly resembled the dead father of the traitor Paaker. 
My preserver was of tall stature, and had a beautiful 
countenance ; his voice was deep and thrilling, and he 
swung his battle-ax as if it were a mere plaything.” 

Ameni had listened eagerly to the king’s" words, now he 
bowed low before him and said, humbly: “If I were 
younger I myself would endeavor, as was the custom with 
our fathers, to celebrate this glorious deed of a god and of 
his sublime son in a song worthy of this festival; but melt- 
ing tones are no longer mine — they vanish with years, and 
the ear of the listener lends itself only to the young. 
Nothing is wanting to thy feast, most lordly Ani, but a 
poet, who might sing the glorious deeds of our monarch to 
the sound of his lute, and yet we have at hand the gifted 
Pentaur, the noblest disciple of the House of Seti.” 

Bent-Anat turned perfectly white, and the priests who 
were present expressed the utmost joy and astonishment, 
for they had long thought the young poet, who was highly 
esteemed throughout Egypt, to be dead. 

The king had often heard of the fame of Pentaur from 
his sons, and especially from Kameri, and he willingly con- 
sented that Ameni should send for the poet, who had him- 
self borne arms at Kadesh, in order that he should sing a 
song of triumph. The regent gazed blankly and uneasily 
into his wine-cup, and the high-priest rose to fetch Pentaur 
himself into the presence of the king. 

During the high-priest’s absence more and more dishes 
were served to the company; behind each guest stood a 
silver bowl with rose-water, in which from time to time he 
could dip his fingers to cool and clean them; the slaves in 
waiting were constantly at hand with embroidered napkins 
to wipe them, and others frequently changed the faded 
wreaths round the heads and shoulders of the feasters for 
fresh ones. 


436 


UARDA. 


“ How pale yon are, my child !” said Rameses, turning 
to Bent-Anat. “If you are tired your uncle will no doubt 
allow you to leave the hall; though I think you should 
stay to hear the performance of this much-lauded poet. 
After having been so highly praised he will find it difficult 
to satisfy his hearers. But indeed I am uneasy about you, 
my child; would you rather go?” 

.The regent had risen and said, earnestly: 

“ Your presence has done me honor, but if you are 
fatigued, I beg you to allow me to conduct you and your 
ladies to the apartments intended for you.” 

“ I will stay,” said Bent-Anat, in a low but decided 
tone, and she kept her eyes on the floor, while her heart 
beat violently, for the murmur of voices told her that Pen- 
taur was entering the hall. He wore the long white robe 
of a priest of the temple of Seti, and on his forehead the 
ostrich feather which marked him as one of the initiated. 
He did not raise his eyes till he stood close before the king; 
then he prostrated himself before him, and awaited a sign 
from the Pharaoh before he rose again. 

But Rameses hesitated a long time, for the youthful 
figure before him, and the glance that met his own, moved 
him strangely. Was not this the divinity of the fight? 
Was not this his preserver? Was he again deluded by a 
resemblance, or was he in a dream? 

The guests gazed in silence at the spell-bound king and 
at the poet; at last Rameses bowed his head. Pentaurrose 
to his feet, and the bright color flew to his face as close to 
him he perceived Bent-Anat. 

“ You fought at Kadesh?” asked the king. 

“ As thou sayest,” replied Pentaur. 

“ You are well spoken of as a poet,” said Rameses, “and 
we desire to hear the wonderful tale of my preservation 
celebrated in song. If you will attempt it, let a lute be 
brought and sing.” 

The poet bowed. “ My gifts are modest,” he said, “ but 
I will endeavor to sing of the glorious deed, in the 
presence of the hero who achieved it, with the aid of the 
gods.” 

Rameses gave a signal, and Ameni caused a large golden 
harp to be brought in for his disciple. Pentaur lightly 
touched the strings, leaned his head against the top of the 


UAHDA. 


43 ? 


tall bow of the harp, for some time lost in meditation; 
then he drew himself up boldly, and struck the chords, 
bringing out a strong and warlike music in broad heroic 
rhythm. 

Then he began the narrative: how Rameses had pitched 
his camp before Kadesh, how he ordered his troops, and 
how he had taken the field against the Cheta, and their 
Asiatic allies. Louder and stronger rose his tones when he 
reached the turning point of the battle, and began to cele- 
brate the rescue of the king; and the Pharaoh listened 
with eager attention as Pentaur sang: 

“ Then tlie king stood forth, and, radiant with courage, 

He looked like the Sun-god armed and eager for battle. 

The noble steeds that bore him into the struggle — 

* Victory to Thebes ’ was the name of one, and the other 
Was called * contented Nura ’ — were foaled in the stables 
Of him we call ‘ the elect,’ * the beloved of Anion,’ 

‘Lord of truth,’ the chosen vicar of Ra. 

Up sprang the king and threw himself on the foe, 

The swaying ranks of the contemptible Cheta. 

He stood alone — alone, and no man with him. 

As thus the king stood forth all eyes were upon him, 

And soon he was enmeshed by men and horses, 

And by the enemy’s chariots, two thousand five hundred, 

The foe behind hemmed him in and enclosed him. 

Dense the array of the contemptible Cheta, 

Dense the swarm of warriors out of Arad, 

Dense the Mysian host, the Pisidian legions. 

Every chariot carried three bold warriors, 

All his foes, and all allied like brothers. 

“ ‘ Not a prince is with me, not a captain, 

Not an archer, none to guide my horses ! 

Fled the riders ! fled my troops and horse — 

By my side not one is now left standing.’ 

Thus the king, and raised his voice in prayer. 

‘ Great father Amon, I have known thee well. 

And can the father thus forget his son ? 

Have I in any deed forgotten Thee ? 

Have I done aught without Thy high behest, 

Or moved or staid against Thy sovereign will ? 

Great am I — mighty are Egyptian kings — 

But in the sight of Thy commanding might, 

Small as the chieftain of a wandering tribe. 

Immortal Lord, crush Thou this unclean people ; 

Break Thou their necks, annihilate the heathen. 

And I — have I not brought Thee many victims, 


/ 


438 


VARDA. 


And filled Thy temple with the captive folk ? 

And for Thy presence built a dwelling place 
That shall endure for countless years to come ? 

Thy garners overflow with gifts from me. 

I offered Thee the world to swell Thy glory, 

And thirty thousand mighty steers have shed 
Their smoking blood on fragrant cedar piles. 

Tall gateways, flag-decked masts, I raised to Thee, 

And obelisks from Abu I have brought, 

And built Thee temples of eternal stone. 

For Thee my ships have brought across the sea 
The tribute of the nations. This I did — 

When were such things done in the former time ? 

For dark the fate of him who would rebel 
Against Thee; though Thy sway is just and mild. 

My father, Amon — as an earthly son 
His earthly father — so I call on Thee. 

Look down from heaven on me, beset by foes, 

By heathen foes — the folk that know Thee not. 

The nations have^combined against Thy son; 

I stand alone — alone, and no man with me. 

My foot and horse are fled, I called aloud 
And no one heard — in vain I called to them. 

And yet I say: the sheltering care of Amon 
Is better succor than a million men, 

Or than ten thousand knights, or than a thousand 
Brothers and sons though gathered into one. 

And yet I say: the bulwarks raised by men 
However strong, compared to Thy great works 
Are but vain shadows, and no human aid 
Avails against the foe — but thy strong hand. 

The counsel of Thy lips shall guide my way; 

I have obeyed whenever Thou hast ruled; 

I call on Thee — and, with my fame, Thy glory 
Shall fill the world, from farthest east to west.’ 

“ Yea, his cry rang forth even far as Hermonthis, 

And Amon himself appeared at his call; and gave him 
His hand and shouted in triumph, saying to the Pharaoh: 

‘ Help is at hand, O Rameses. I will uphold thee — 

I thy father am he who now is thy succor, 

Bearing thee in my hands. For stronger and readier 
I than a hundred thousand mortal retainers; 

I am the Lord of victory loving valor ? 

I rejoice in the brave and give them good counsel, 

And he whom I counsel certainly shall not miscarry.’ 

“ Then like Menth, with his right he scattered the arrows, 
And with his left he swung his deadly weapon, 

Felling the foe — as his foes are felled by Baal. 

The chariots were broken and the drivers scattered, 


UARDA. 


439 


Then was the foe overthrown before his horses. 

None found a hand to fight: they could not shoot, 

Nor dared they hurl the spear, but fled at his coming — 
Headlong into the river.” * 

A silence as of the grave reigned in the vast hall. Ra- 
meses fixed his eyes on the poet, as though he would en- 
grave his features on his very soul, and compare them with 
those of another which had'd welt there unforgotten since 
the day of Kadesh. Beyond a doubt his preserver stood 
before him. 

Seized by a sudden impulse, he interrupted the poet in 
the midst of his stirring song, and cried out to the as- 
sembled guests: 

“ -Pay honor to this man ! for the Divinity chose to 
appear under his form to save your king when he ‘ alone, 
and no man with him/ struggled with a thousand." 

“ Hail to Pentaur!” rang through the hall from the 
vast assembly, and Nefert rose and gave the poet the 
bunch of flowers she had been wearing on her bosom. 

The king nodded approval, and looked inquiringly at 
his daughter; Bent-Anat’s eyes met his with a glance of 
intelligence, and with all the simplicity of an impulsive 
child, she took from her head the wreath that had deco- 
rated her beautiful hair, went up to Pentaur, and crowned 
him with it, as i*t was customary for a bride to crown her 
lover before the wedding. 

Rameses observed his daughter’s action with some sur- 
prise, and the guests responded to it with loud cheering. 

The king looked gravely at Bent-Anat and the young 
priest; the eyes of all the company were eagerly fixed on 
the princess and the poet. The king seemed to have for- 
gotten the presence of strangers, and to be wholly absorbed 
in thought, but by degrees a change came over his face, it 
cleared, as a landscape is cleared from the morning mists 
under the influence of the spring sunshine. When he looked 
up again his glance was bright and satisfied, and Bent- 
Anat knew what it promised when it lingered lovingly first 
on her, and then on her friend, whose head was still 
graced by the wreath that had crowned hers. 

* I have availed myself of the help of Prof. Lushington’s 
translation in “Records of the Past,” edited by Dr. S. Burch. — 
Translator. 


440 


VARDA. 


At last Rameses turned from the lovers, and said to the 
guests: 

“ It is past midnight, and I will now leave you. To- 
morrow evening I bid you all — and you especially, Pen- 
taur — to be my guests in this banqueting-hall. Once 
more fill your cups, and let us empty them — to a long i 
time of peace after the victory which, by the help of the 
gods, we have won. And at the same time let us express 
our thanks to my friend Ani, who has entertained us so 
magnificently, and who has so faithfully and zealously 
administered the affairs of the kingdom during my 
absence .” 

The company pledged the king, who warmly shook 
hands with the regent, and then, escorted by his wand- 
bearers and lords in waiting, quitted the hall, after he had 
signed to Mena, Ameni, and the ladies to follow him. 

Nefert greeted her husband, but she immediately parted 
from the royal party, as she had yielded to the urgent 
entreaty of Katuti that she should for this night go to her 
mother, to whom she had so much to tell, instead of 
remaining with the princess. Her mother’s chariot soon 
took her to her tent. 

Rameses dismissed his attendants in the ante-room of 
his apartments; when they were alone he turned to Bent- : 
Anat and said, affectionately: 

“ What was in your mind when you laid your wreath on 
the poet’s brow?” 

“ What is in every maiden’s mind when she does the 
like,” replied Bent-Anat with trustful frankness. 

“ And your father?” asked the king. 

“My father knows that I will obey him even if he 
demands of me the hardest thing— the sacrifice of all my 
happiness; but I believe that he— that you love me fondly, : 
and I do not forget the hour in which you said to me that 
now my mother was dead you would be~ father and mother 
both to me, and you would try to understand me as she 
certainly would have understood me. But what need 
between us of so many words. I love Pentaur — with a 
love that is not of yesterday — with the first perfect love of 
my heart, and he has proved himself worthy of that high 
honor. But were he ever so humble, the hand of your 
daughter has the power to raise him above every prince in 
the land.” 


UARDA. 


441 


“ It has such power, and you shall exercise it,” cried 
the king. “You have been true and faithful to yourself, 
while your father and protector left you to yourself. In 
you I love the image of your mother, and I learned from 
her that a true woman's heart can find the right path 
better than a man's wisdom. Now go to rest, and to- 
morrow morning put on a fresh wreath, for you will have 
need of it, my noble daughter.” 


CHAPTER XLII. 

The cloudless vault of heaven spread over the plain of 
Pelusium, the stars were bright, the moon threw her calm 
light over the thousands of tents which shone as white as 
little hillocks of snow. All was silent, the soldiers and the 
Egyptians, who had assembled to welcome the king, were 
now all gone to rest. 

There had been great rejoicing and jollity in the camp; 
three enormous vats, garlanded with flowers and overflow- 
ing with wine, which spilt with every movement of the 
trucks on which they were drawn by thirty oxen, were 
sent up and down the little streets of tents, and as the 
evening closed in, tavern booths were erected in many spots 
in the camp, at which the regent's servants supplied the 
soldiers with red and white wine. The tents of the 
populace were only divided from the pavilion of the 
Pharaoh by the hastily-constructed garden in the midst of 
which it stood, and the hedge which inclosed it. 

The tent of the regent himself was distinguished from 
all the others by its size and magnificence; to the right of 
it was the encampment of the different priestly deputations, 
to the left that of his suite; among the latter were the 
tents of his friend Katuti, a large one for her own use, 
and some smaller ones for her servants. Behind Ani's 
pavilion stood a tent, enclosed in a wall or screen of can- 
vas, within which old Hekt was lodged; Ani had secretly 
conveyed her hither on board his own boat. Only Katuti 
and his confidential servants knew who it was that lay con- 
cealed in the mysteriously shrouded abode. 

While the banquet was proceeding in the great pavilion, 
the witch was sitting in a heap on the sandy earth of her 


442 


UARDA. 


conical canvas dwelling; she breathed with difficulty, for a 
weakness of the heart, against which she had long strug- 
gled, now oppressed her more frequently and severely; 
a little lamp of clay burned before her, and on her lap 
crouched a sick and ruffled hawk; the creature shivered 
from time to time, closing the filmy lids of his keen eyes, 
which glowed with a dull fire when Hekt took him up in 
her withered hand, and tried to blow some air into his 
hooked beak, still ever ready to peck and tear her. 

At her feet little Scherau lay asleep. Presently she 
pushed the child with her foot. “ Wake up,” she said, as 
he raised himself, still half asleep. “ You have young 
ears — it seemed to me that I heard a woman scream in 
Anrs tent. Do you hear anything?” 

“ Yes, indeed,” exclaimed the little one. “ There is a 
noise like crying, and that — that was a scream! It came 
from out there, from Nemu’s tent.” 

“Creep through there,” said the witch, “and see what 
is happening!” 

The child obeyed. Hekt turned her attention again to 
the bird, which no longer perched in her lap, but lay on 
one side, and now could not try to use its talons, when she 
took him up in her hand. 

“It is all over with him,” muttered the old woman, 
“and the one I called Rameses is sleeker than ever. It is 
all folly, and yet — and yet! the regent’s game is over, and 
he has lost it. The creature is stretching itself — its head 
drops— it draws itself up — one more clutch at my dress — 
now it is dead!” 

She contemplated the dead hawk in her lap for some 
minutes, then she took it up, flung it into a corner of the 
tent, and exclaimed: 

“ Good-by, King Ani. The crown is not for you !” 
Then she went on: “What project has he in hand now, I 
wonder? Twenty times he has asked me whether the 
great enterprise will succeed; as if I knew any more than 
he! And Nemu too has hinted all kinds of things, though 
he would not speak out. Something is going on, and I — 
and I? There it comes again!” 

The old woman pressed her hand to her heart and closed 
her eyes;, her features were distorted with pain; she did 
not perceive Scherau’s return, she did not hear him call her 


VARDA. 


443 


name, or see that, when she did not answer him, he left 
her again. For an hour or more she remained uncon- 
scious, then her senses returned, but she felt as if some 
ice-cold fluid slowly ran through her veins instead of the 
warm blood. 

“ If I had kept a hawk for myself too,” she muttered, 
“ it would soon follow the other one in the corner. 
If only Ani keeps his word, and has me embalmed ! 
But how can he when he too is so near his end. They will 
let me rot and disappear, and there will be no future for 
me, no meeting with Assa.” 

The old woman remained silent for a long time; at last 
she murmured hoarsely, with her eyes fixed on the ground: 

“ Death brings release, if only from the torment of re- 
membrance. But there is a life beyond tbe grave. I do 
not, I will not cease to hope. The dead shall all be 
equally judged, and subject to the inscrutable decrees. 
Where shall I find him? Among the blest, or among the 
damned? And I? It matters not! The deeper the abyss 
into which they fling me the better. Can Assa, if he is 
among the blest, remain in bliss, when he sees to what he 
has brought me? Oh! they must embalm me — I cannot 
bear to vanish, and rot and evaporate into nothingness!” 

While she was still speaking, the dwarf Nemu had come 
into the tent; Scherau, seeing the old woman senseless, 
had run to tell him that his mother was lying on the earth 
with her eyes shut, and was dying. The witch perceived 
the little man. 

“ It is well,” she said, “that you have come; I shall be 
dead before sunrise.” 

“Mother!” cried the dwarf, horrified, “you shall live, 
and live better than you have done till now! Great things 
are happening, and for us!” 

“ I know, I know,” said Hekt. “Go away, Scherau— 
now, Nemu, whisper in my ear what is doing?” 

The dwarf felt as if he could not avoid the influence of 
her eye; he went up to her and said, softly: 

“ The pavilion, in which the king and his people are 
sleeping, is constructed of wood; straw and pitch are built 
into the walls, and laid under the boards. As soon as they 
are gone to rest we shall set the tinder thing on fire. The 
guards are drunk and sleeping.” 


444 


HARD A. 


“ Well thought of,” said Hekt. “ Did you plan it?” 

“ I and my mistress,” said the dwarf, not without pride. 

“ You can devise a plot,” said the old woman, “ but yon i 
are feeble in the working out. Is your plan a secret? j 
Have you clever assistants?” 

“No one knows of it,” replied the dwarf, “but Katuti, 
Paaker, and I; we three shall lay the brands to the spots j 
we have fixed upon. I am going to the rooms of Bent- 
Anat; Katuti, who can go in and out as she pleases, will 
set fire to the stairs which lead to the upper story, and 
which fall by touching a spring; and Paaker to the king's 
apartments.” 

“ Good — good, it may succeed,” gasped the old woman. 

“ But what was the scream in your tent?” 

The dwarf seemed doubtful about answering; but Hekt 
went on: 

“ Speak without fear — the dead are sure to be silent.” 

The dwarf, trembling with agitation, shook olf his hesi- 
tation, and said: 

“I have found Uarda, the grandchild of Pinem, who 
had disappeared, and I decoyed her here, for she and no 
other shall be my wife, if Ani is king, and if Katuti makes 
me rich and free. She is in the service of the Princess 
Bent-Anat, and sleeps in her ante-room, and she must not 
be burnt with her mistress. She insisted on going back to 
the palace, so, as she would fly to the fire like a gnat, and 
1 would not have her risk being burned, I tied her up 
fast.” _ 

“Did she not struggle?” said Hekt. 

“Like a mad thing,” said the dwarf. “But the re- 
gent's dumb slave, who was ordered by his master to obey 
me in everything to-day, helped me. We tied up her 
mouth that she might not be heard screaming.” 

“ Will you leave her alone when you go to do vour 
errand?” 

“ Her father is with her!” 

“ Kaschta, the red-beard ?” asked the old woman, in sur- 
prise. “ And did he not break you in pieces like an 
earthenware pot?” 

“He will not stir,” said Nemu, laughing. “ For when 
I found him, I made him so drunk with Ani's old wine 
that he lies there like a mummy. It was from him that I 


UARDA . 


445 


learned where Uarda was, and I went to her, and got her 
to come with me by telling her that her father was very ill, 
and begged her to go to see him once more. She flew 
after me like a gazelle, and when she saw the soldier lying 
there senseless she threw herself upon him, and called for 
water to cool his head, for he was raving in his dreams of 
rats and mice that had fallen upon him. As it grew late 
she wanted to return to her mistress, and we were obliged 
to prevent her. How handsome she has grown, mother; 
you cannot imagine how pretty she is.” 

“ Ay, ay!” said Hekt. “ You will have to keep an eye 
upon her when she is your wife.” 

“ I will treat her like the wife of a noble,” said Nemu. 
“ And pay a real lady to guard her. But by this time 
Katuti has brought home her daughter, Mena’s wife; the 
stars are sinking and — there — that was the first signal. 
When Katuti whistles the third time we are to go to 
work. Lend me your fire-box, mother, it is better than 
mine.” 

“ Take it,” said Hekt. “I shall never need it again. 
It is all over with me! How your hand shakes! Hold the 
wood firmly, or you will drop it before you have brought 
the fire.” * 

The dwarf bid the old woman farewell, and she let him 
kiss her without moving. When he was gone, she listened 
eagerly for any sound that might pierce the silence of the 
night, her eyes shone with a keen light, and a thousand 
thoughts flew through her restless brain. When she heard 
the second signal on Katuti’s silver whistle, she sat upright 
and muttered: 

“ That gallows-bird Paaker, his vain aunt and that 
villain Ani, are no match for Rameses, even when he is 
asleep. Ani’s hawk is dead; he has nothing to hope for 
from fortune, and I nothing to hope for from him. But 
if Rameses — if the real king would promise me — then my 
poor old body — Yes, that is the thing, that is what I will 
do.” 

She painfully raised herself on her feet with the help 
of her stick, she found a knife and a small flask which she 
slipped into her dress, and then, bent and trembling, with 
a last effort of her remaining strength she dragged herself 
as far as Nemu’s tent. Here she found Uarda bound hand 


UARDA. 


446 

and foot, and Kaschta lying on the ground in a heavy 
drunken slumber. 

The girl shrank together in alarm when she saw the old 
woman, and Scherau, who crouched at her side, raised his 
hands imploringly to the witch. 

“ Take this knife, boy,” she said to the little one. “ Cut 
the ropes the poor thing is tied wfth. The papyrus cords 
are strong,* saw them with the blade.” 

While the boy eagerly followed her instructions with all 
his little might, she rubbed the soldier’s temples with an 
essence which she had in the bottle, and poured a few drops 
of it between his lips. Kaschta came to himself, stretched 
his limbs, and stared in astonishment at the place in which 
he found himself. She gave him some water, and desired 
him to drink it, saying, as Uarda shook herself free from 
her bonds: 

“ The gods have predestined you to great things, you 
white maiden. Listen to what I, old llekt, am telling 
you. The king’s life is threatened, his and his children's; 

I purpose to save them, and I ask no reward but this — ' 
that he should have my body embalmed and interred at j 
Thebes. Swear to me that you will require this of him 
when you have saved him.” 

“ In God’s name what is happening?” cried Uarda. 

Swear that you will provide for my burial,” said the 
old woman. 

“ I swear it!” cried the girl. “ But for God’s sake ” 

“ Katuti, Paaker and Xemu are gone to set fire to the 
palace when Raineses is sleeping, in three places. Do you 
hear, Kaschta! Now hasten, fly after the incendiaries, 
rouse the servants, and try to rescue the king.” 

“Oh fly, father!” cried the girl, and they both rushed ‘ 
away in the darkness, 

“ She is honest and will keep her word,” muttered Hekt, 
and she tried to drag herself back to her own tent; but 
her strength failed her half-way. Little Scherau tried to 
support her, but he was too weak; she sank down on the 
sand, and looked out into the distance. There she saw 


* Papyrus was used not only for writing on, but also for ropes. 
The bridge of boats on which Xerxes crossed the Hellespont was 
fastened with cables of papyrus. 


UARDA. 


447 


the dark mass of the palace, from which rose a light that 
grew broader and broader, then clouds of black smoke, 
then up flew the soaring flame, and a swarm of glowing 
sparks. 

Run into the camp, child, ” she cried, “ cry fire, and 
wake the sleepers. 

Scherau ran off shouting as loud as he could. 

The old woman pressed her hand to her side, and mut- 
tered: “ There it is again.” t( In the other world — 
Assa — Assa,” and her trembling lips were silent forever. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

Katuti had kept her unfortunate nephew Paaker con- 
cealed in one of her servants’ tents. He had escaped 
wounded from the battle at Kadesh, and in terrible pain 
he had succeeded, by the help of an ass which he had pur- 
chased from a peasant, in reaching by paths known to 
hardly any one but himself, the cave where he had pre- 
viously left his brother. Here he found his faithful 
Ethiopian slave, who nursed him till he was strong enough 
to set out on his journey to Egypt. He reached Pelusium, 
after many privations, disguised as an Ishmaelite camel- 
driver; he left his servant, who might have betrayed him, 
behind in the cave. 

Before he was permitted to pass the fortifications, which 
lay across the isthmus which parts the Mediterranean from 
the Red Sea, and which were intended to protect Egypt 
from the incursions of the nomad tribes of the Chasu, he 
was subjected to a strict interrogatory, and among other 
questions was asked whether he had nowhere met with 
the traitor Paaker, who was minutely described to him. 
No one recognized in the shrunken, grey-haired, one-eyed 
camel-driver, the broad-shouldered, muscular and thick- 
legged pioneer. To disguise himself the more effectually, 
he procured some hair-dye* — a cosmetic known in all 


* In my papyrus there are several recipes for the preparation of 
hair-dye; one is ascribed to the Lady Schesch, the mother of Teta, 
wife of the first king of Egypt. The earliest of all the recipes pre- 
served to us is a prescription for dyeing the hair. 


448 


UARDA . 


ages — and blackened himself. Katuti had arrived at 
Pelusium with Ani some time before, to superintend the ! 
construction of the royal pavilion. He ventured to 
approach her disguised as a negro beggar, with a palm- 
branch in his hand. She gave him some money and ques- 
tioned him concerning his native country, for she made it | 
her business to secure the favor even of the meanest; but 
though she appeared to take an interest in his answers, 
she did not recognize him; now for the first time he felt 
secure, and the next day he went up to her again, and 
told her who he was. 

The widow was not unmoved by the frightful alteration 
in her nephew, and although she knew that even Ani had 
decreed that any intercourse with the traitor w T as to be 
punished by death, she took him at once into her service, 
for she had never had greater need than now to employ 
the desperate enemy of the king and of her son-in law. 

The mutilated, despised and hunted man kept himself 
far from the other servants, regarding the meaner folk 
with undiminished scorn. He thought seldom, and only 
vaguely, of Katuti’s daughter, for love had quite given 
place to hatred, and only one thing now seemed to him 
worth living for — the hope of working with others to 
cause his enemies’ downfall, and of being the instrument 
of their death; so he offered himself to the widow a will- 
ing and welcome tool, and the dull flash in his uninjured 
eye, when she set him the task of setting fire to the king’s 
apartments, showed her that in the Mohar she had found 
an ally she might depend on to the uttermost. 

Paaker had carefully examined the scene of his exploit 
before the king’s arrival. Under the windows of the 
king’s rooms, at least forty feet from the ground, was a 
narrow parapet resting on the ends of the beams which 
supported the rafters on which lay the floor of the upper 
story in which the king slept. These rafters had been 
smeared with pitch, and straw had been laid between 
them, and the pioneer would have known how to find the 
opening where he was to put in the brand even if he had 
been blind of both eyes. 

When Katuti first sounded her whistle he slunk to his 
post; he was challenged by no watchman, for the few 
guards who had been placed in the immediate vicinity of 


UARDA. 


449 


the pavilion had all gone to sleep under the influence of 
the regents wine. Paaker climbed up to about the height 
of two men from the ground by the help of the ornamental 
carving on the outside wall of the palace; there a rope- 
ladder was attached; he clambered up this, and soon stood 
on the parapet, above which were the windows of the 
king’s rooms, and below which the fire was to be laid. 

Rameses’ room was brightly illuminated. Paaker could 
see into it without being seen, and could hear every word 
that was spoken within. The king was sitting in an arm- 
chair, and looked thoughtfully at the ground; before him 
stood the regent, and Mena stood by his couch, 
holding in his hand the king’s sleeping-robe. 

Presently Rameses raised his head, and said, as he offered 
his hand with frank affection to Ani. 

“ Let me bring this glorious day to a worthy end, cousin. 
I have found you my true and faithful friend, and I had 
been in danger of believing those overanxious counsellors 
who spoke evil of you. I am never prone to distrust, but 
a number of things occurred together that clouded my 
judgment, and I did you injustice. I am sorry, sincerely 
sorry; nor am I ashamed to apologize to you for having 
for an instant doubted your good intentions. You are my 
good friend — and I will prove to you that I am yours. 
There is my hand — take it; and all Egypt shall know that 
Rameses trusts no man more implicitly than his Regent 
Ani. I will ask you to undertake to be my guard of 
honor to-night — we will share this room. I sleep here; 
when I lie down on my couch take your place on the divan 
yonder.”" 

Ani had taken Rameses’ offered hand, but now he turned 
pale as he looked down. Paaker could see straight into 
his face, and it was not without difficulty that he sup- 
pressed a scornful laugh. 

Rameses did not observe the regent’s dismay, for he had 
signed to Mena to come closer to him. 

“Before I sleep,” said the king, “I will bring matters 
to an end with you too. You have put your wife’s con- 
stancy to a severe test, and she has trusted you with a 
child-like simplicity that is often wiser than the arguments 
of sages, because she loved you honestly, and. is herself in- 
capable of guile. I promised you that I would grant you 


450 


UARDA. 


a wish if your faith in her was justified. Now tell me j' 
what is your will?” ■ 

Mena fell on his knees and covered the king’s robe with J 
kisses. 

“ Pardon!” he exclaimed. “ Nothing but pardon. My > 
crime was a heavy one, I know; but I was driven to it by I 
scorn and fury — it was as if I saw the dishonoring hand of ■ 
Paaker stretched out to seize my innocent wife, who, as I 
now know, loathes him as a toad ” 1 

“ What was that?” exclaimed the king. “ I thought I 
heard a groan outside.” 

He went up to the window and looked out, but he did 
not see the pioneer, who watched every motion of the king, 
and who, as soon as he perceived that his involuntary sigh 
of anguish had been heard, stretched himself close under 
the balustrade. Mena had not risen from his knees when 
the king once more turned to him. 

“Pardon me,” he said again. “Let me be near thee 
again as before, and drive thy chariot. I live only through 
thee, I am of no worth but through thee, and by thy favor, 
my king, my lord, my father!” 

Rameses signed to his favorite to rise. “ Your request 
was granted,” said he, “ before you made it. I am still 
in your debt on your fair wife’s account. Thank Nefert — 
not me, and let us give thanks to the immortals this day 
with especial fervor. What has it not brought forth for 
us! He has restored to me you two friends, whom I re- 
garded as lost to me, and has given me in Pentaur another 
son.” 

A low whistle sounded through the night air; it was 
Katuti’s last signal. 

Paaker blew up the tinder, laid it in the hole under the 
parapet, and then, unmindful of his own danger, raised 
himself to listen for any further words. 

“I entreat thee,” said the regent, approaching Rameses, 

“ to excuse me. I fully appreciate thy favors, but the 
labors of the last few days have been too much for me; I 
can hardly stand on my feet, and the guard of honor ” 

“ Mena will watch,” said the king. “ Sleep in all 
security, cousin. I will have it known to all men that I 
have put away from me all distrust of you. Give me 
my night-robe, Mena. Nay — one thing more I must tell 


UARDA. 


451 


you. Youth smiles on the young, Ani. Bent-Anat lias 
chosen a worthy husband, my preserver, the poet Pentaur. 
He was said to be a man of humble origin, the son of a 
gardener of the House of Seti; and now what do I learn 
through Ameni? He is the true son of the dead Mohar, 
and the foul traitor Paaker is the gardener's son. A witch 
in the Necropolis changed the children. This is the best 
news of all that has reached me on this propitious day, for 
the Mohar's widow, the noble Setchem, has been brought 
here, and I should have been obliged to choose between 
two sentences on her as the mother of the villain who has 
escaped us. Either I must have sent her to the quarries, 

or have had her beheaded before all the people For 

God's sake, what is that?'' 

They heard a loud cry in a man's voice, and at the same 
instant a noise as if some heavy mass had fallen to the 
ground from a great height. Raineses and Mena hastened 
to the window, but started back, for they were met by a 
cloud of smoke. 

“ Call the watch!" cried the king. 

“ Go, you," exclaimed Mena to Ani. “ I will not leave 
the king again in danger." 

Ani fled away like an escaped prisoner, but he could 
not get far, for, before he could descend the stairs to the 
lower story, they fell in before his very eyes; Katuti, after 
she had set fire to the interior of the palace, had made 
them fall by one blow of a hammer. Ani saw her robe as 
she herself fled, clenched his fist with rage as he shouted 
her name, and then, not knowing what he did, rushed 
headlong through the corridor into which the different 
royal apartments opened. 

The fearful crash of the falling stairs brought the king 
and Mena also out of the sleeping-room. 

“ There lie the stairs! that is serious!" said the- king, 
coolly; then he went back into his room, and looked out of 
a window to estimate the danger. Bright flames were 
already bursting from the northern end of the palace, and 
gave the gray dawn the brightness of day; the southern 
wing of the pavilion was not yet on fire. Mena observed 
the parapet from which Paaker had fallen to the ground, 
tested its strength, and found it firm enough to bear sev- 
eral persons. He looked round, particularly at the wing 


452 


UARDA. 


not yet gained by the flames, and exclaimed in a loud ;; 
voice: 

“ The fire is intentional! It is done on purpose. See | 
there! a man is squatting down and pushing a brand into 
the wood-work." 

He leaped back into the room, which was now filling ! 
with smoke, snatched the king's bow and quiver, which ; 
he himself had hung up at the bed-head, took careful aim, j 
and with one cry the incendiary fell dead. 

A few hours later the dwarf Nemu was found with the 
charioteer's arrow through his heart. After setting fire 
to Bent-Anat’s rooms, he had determined to lay a brand 
to the wing of the palace where, with the other princes, 
Uarda's friend Rameri was sleeping. 

Mena had again leaped out of window, and was estimat- 
ing the height of the leap to the ground; the Pharaoh's 
room was getting more and more filled with smoke, and 
flames began to break through the seams of the boards. 
Outside the palace as well as within every one was waking 
up to terror and excitement. 

“Fire! fire! an incendiary ! Help! Save the king!" 
cried Kaschta, who rushed on, followed by a crowd of 
guards whom he had roused ; Uarda had flown to call 
Bent-Anat, as she knew the way to her room. The king 
had got on to the parapet outside the window with Mena, 
and was calling to the soldiers. 

“Half of you get into the house, and first save the 
princess; the other half keep the fire from catching the 
south wing. I will try to get there." 

But Nemu's brand had been effectual, the flames 
flared up, and the soldiers strained every nerve to conquer 
them. Their cries mingled with the crackling and snap- 
ping of the dry wood, and the roar of the flames, with the 
trumpet calls of the awakening troops, and the beating of 
drums. The young princes appeared at a window; they 
had tied their clothes together to form a rope, and one by 
one escaped down it. 

Raineses called to them with words of encouragement, 
but he himself was unable to take any means of escape, 
for though the parapet on which he stood was tolerably 
wide, and ran round the whole of the building, at about 
every six feet it was broken by spaces of about ten paces. 


UAMDA . 


453 


The fire was spreading and growing, and glowing sparks 
flew round him and his companion like chaff from the 
winnowing fan. 

“ Bring some straw and make a heap below !” shouted 
Rameses, above the roar of the conflagration. “ There is 
no escape but by a leap down.” 

The flames rushed out of the windows of the king’s 
room; it was impossible to return to it, but neither the 
king nor Mena lost his self-possession. When Mena saw 
the twelve princes descending to the ground, he shouted 
through his hands, using them as a speakipg-trumpet, and 
called to Rameri, who was about to slip down the rope 
they had contrived, the last of them all: 

“ Pull up the rope, and keep it from injury till I come.” 

Rameri obeyed the order, and before Raineses could in- 
terfere, Mena had sprung across the space which divided 
one piece of the balustrade from another. The king’s 
blood ran cold as Mena, a second time, ventured the fright- 
ful leap; one false step, and he must meet with the same 
fearful death as his enemy Paaker. 

While the by-standers watched him in breathless silence — 
while the crackling of the wood, the roar of the flames, 
and the dull thump of falling timber mingled with the 
distant chant of a procession of priests who were now ap- 
proaching the burning pile, Nefert, roused by little 
Scherau, knelt on the bare ground in fervent and passion- 
ate prayer to the saving gods. She watched every move- 
ment of her husband, and she bit her lips till they bled not 
to cry out. She felt that he was acting bravely and nobly, 
and that he was lost if even for an instant his attention 
were distracted from his perilous footing. Now he had 
reached Rameri and bound one end of the rope made out 
of cloaks and handkerchiefs round his body; then he gave 
the other end to Rameri, who held fast to the window-sill, 
and prepared once more to spring. Nefert saw him ready 
to leap, she pressed her hands upon her lips to repress a 
scream, she shut her eyes, and when she opened them 
again he had accomplished the first leap, and at the second 
the gods preserved him from falling; at the third the king 
held out his hand to him and saved him from a fall. Then 
Rameses helped him to unfasten the rope from round his 
waist to fasten it to the end of a beam. 


454 


HARD A. 


Rameri now loosened the other end and followed Mena’s i 
example ; he, too, practiced in athletic exercises in the ?| 
school of the House of Seti, succeeded in accomplishing | 
the three tremendous leaps, and soon the king stood in 
safety on the ground. Rameri followed him, and then ; 
Mena, whose faithful wife went to meet him and wiped 
the sweat from his throbbing temples. 

Rameses hurried to the north wing, where Bent-Anat 
had her apartments; he found her safe indeed, but wring- 
ing her hands, for her young favorite Uarda had disap- 
peared in the flames after she had roused her and saved 
her with her father’s assistance. 

Kaschta ran up and down in front of the burning 
pavilion, tearing his hair; now calling his child in tones of 
anguish, now holding his breath to listen for an answer. 

To rush at random into the immense burning building 
would have been madness. The king observed the un- 
happy man and set him to lead the soldiers, whom he had 
commanded to hew down the wall of Bent-Anat’s rooms so 
as to rescue the girl who might be within. Kaschta seized 
an ax and raised it to strike. 

But he thought that he heard blows from within against 
one of the shutters of the ground floor, which by Katuti's 
orders had been securely closed; he followed the sound — 
he was not mistaken ; the knocking could be distinctly 
heard. 

With all his might he struck the edge of the ax between 
the shutter and the wall; a stream of smoke poured out of 
the new outlet, and before him, enveloped in its black 
clouds, stood a staggering man, who held Uarda in his ; 
arms. Kaschta sprang forward into the midst of the 
smoke and sparks and snatched his daughter from the arms 
of her preserver, who fell half-smothered on his knees. < 
He rushed out into the air with his light and precious 
burden, and as he pressed his lips to her closed eyelids his ■] 
eyes were wet, and there rose up before him the image of 
the woman who bore her, the wife that had stood as the j 
solitary green palm-tree in the desert waste of his life. 
But only for a few seconds — Bent-Anat herself took Uarda 
into her care and he hastened back to the burning house. ; 

He had recognized his daughter’s preserver; it was the 
physician Nebsecht, who had not quitted the princess 


UARDA. 


455 


since their meeting on Sinai, and had found a place among 
her suite as her personal physician. 

The fresh air had rushed into the room through the 
opening of the shutter, the broad flames streamed out of 
the windows, but still Nebsecht was alive, for his groans 
could be heard through the smoke. Once more Kaschta 
rushed toward the window; the by-standers could see that 
the ceiling of the room was about to fall, and called out to 
warn him, but he was already astride the sill. 

“ I signed myself his slave with my blood,” he 
cried. “ Twice he has saved my child, and now I will 
pay my debt,” and he disappeared into the burning 
room. 

He soon reappeared with Nebsecht in his arms, whose 
robe was already scorched by the flames. He could be 
seen approaching the window with his heavy burden; a 
hundred soldiers, and with them Pentaur, pressed for- 
ward to help him, and took the senseless leech out of 
the arms of the soldier, who lifted him over the window 
sill. 

Kaschta was on the point t of following him, but before 
he could swing himself over, the beams above gave way and 
fell, burying the brave son of the paraschites. 

Pentaur had his insensible friend carried to his tent, and 
helped the physicians to bind up his burns. 

When the cry of fire had been first raised, Pentaur was 
sitting in earnest conversation with the high -priest; he 
had learned that he was not the son of a gardener, but a 
descendant of one of the noblest families in the land. 
The foundations of life seemed to be subverted under his 
feet; Ameni's revelations lifted him out of the dust and 
set him on the marble floor of a palace; and yet Pentaur 
was neither excessively surprised nor inordinately rejoiced; 
he was so well used to find his joys and sufferings depend 
on the man within him, and not on the circumstances 
without. 

As soon as he heard the cry of fire he hastened to the 
burning pavilion and when he saw the king's danger, he 
set himself at the head of a number of soldiers who had 
hurried up from the camp, intending to venture an 
attempt to save Rameses from the inside of the house. 
Among those who followed him in this hopeless effort was 


456 


UARDA. 


Katuti’s reckless son, who had distinguished himself by his 
valor before Kadesh, and who hailed this opportunity of 
again proving his courage. Falling walls choked up the i 
way in front of these brave adventurers; but it was not 
till several had fallen choked or struck down by burn- ; 
ing logs that they made up their minds to retire; one of 
the first that was killed was Katuti’s son, Nefert’s 
brother. 

Uarda had been carried into the nearest tent. Her 
pretty head lay in Bent-Anat’s lap, and Nefert tried to 
restore her to animation by rubbing her temples with strong 
essences. Presently the girl's' lips moved: with returning 
consciousness all she had seen and suffered during the last 
hour or two recurred to her mind; she felt herself rushing 
through the camp with her father, hurrying through the 
corridor to the princess* rooms, while he broke in the 
doors closed by Katuti’s orders; she saw Bent-Anat as she 
roused her, and conducted her to safety ; she remem- 
bered her horror when, just as she reached the door, j 
she discovered that she had left in her chest her ! 
jewel, the only relic of her lost mother, and her rapid 
return, which was observed by no one but by the leech 
Nebsecht. 

Again she seemed to live through the anguish she had 
felt till she once more had the trinket safe in her bosom, 
the horror that fell upon her when she found her escape 
impeded by smoke and flames, and the weakness which 
overcame her; and she felt as if the strange white-robed 
priest once more raised her in his arms. She remembered 
the tenderness of his eyes as he looked into hers, and she ; 
smiled half -gratefully but half-displeased at the tender kiss ] 
which had been pressed on her lips before she found % 
herself in her father’s strong arms. 

“How sweet she is!” said Bent-Anat. “ I believe poor 
Nebsecht is right in saying that her mother was the 
daughter of some great man among the foreign people. 4 
Look what pretty little hands and feet, and her skin is as 
clear as Phoenician glass.” 


UARDA. 


45 ? 


CHAPTER XLIY. 

While the friends were occupied in restoring Uarda to 
animation, and in taking affectionate care of her, Katuti 
was walking restlessly backward and forward in her tent. 

Soon after she had slipped out for the purpose of setting 
fire to the palace, Scherau’s cry had waked up Nefert, and 
Katuti found her daughter’s bed empty when, with black- 
ened hands and limbs trembling with agitation, she came 
back from her criminal task. 

Now she waited in vain for Nemu and Paaker. 

Her steward, whom she sent on repeated messages of in- 
quiry whether the regent had returned, constantly brought 
back a negative answer, and added the information that 
he had found the body of old Hekt lying on the open 
ground. The widow’s heart sank with fear; she was full 
of dark forebodings while she listened to the shouts of the 
people engaged in putting out the fire, the roll of drums, 
and the trumpets of the soldiers calling each other to the 
help of the king. To these sounds now was added the 
dull crash of falling timbers and walls. 

A faint smile played upon her thin lips, and she thought 
to herself: ‘‘There — that perhaps fell on the king, and 
my precious son-in-law, who does not deserve such a fate — 
if we had not fallen into disgrace, and if since the occur- 
rences before Kadesh he did not cling to his indulgent 
lord as a calf follows a cow.” 

She gathered fresh courage, and fancied she could hear 
the voice of Ethiopian troops hailing the regent as king — 
could see Ani decorated with the crown of Upper and 
Lower Egypt, seated on Raineses* throne, and herself by 
his side in rich though unpretending splendor. She 
pictured herself with her son and daughter as enjoying 
Mena’s estate, freed from debt and increased by Ani’s gen- 
erosity, and then a new, intoxicating hope came into her 
mind. Perhaps already at this moment her daughter was 
a widow, and why should she not be so fortunate as to 
induce Ani to select her child, the prettiest woman in 
Thebes, for his wife? Then she, the mother of the queen, 
would be indeed unimpeachable, and all-powerful. She 
had long since come to regard the pionaer as a tool to be 


458 


UARDA. 


cast aside, nay soon to be utterly destroyed; his wealth 
might probably at some future time be bestowed upon her 
son, who had distinguished himself at Kadesh, and whom 
Ani must before long promote to be his charioteer or the 
commander of the chariot warriors. 

Flattered by these fancies, she forgot every care as she 
walked faster and faster to and fro in her tent. Suddenly 
the steward, whom she had this time sent to the very 
scene of the fire, rushed into the tent, and with every token 
of terror broke to her the news that the king and his 
charioteer were hanging in mid air on a narrow wooden 
parapet, and that unless some miracle happened they must 
inevitably be killed. It was said that incendiaries had 
occasioned the fire, and he, the steward, had hastened 
forward to prepare her for evil news as the mangled body 
of the pioneer, which had been identified by the ring on 
his finger, and the poor little corpse of Nemu, pierced 
through by an arrow, had been carried past him. 

Katuti was silent for a moment. 

And the king’s sons?” she asked, with an anxious 
sigh. 

“The gods be praised,” replied the steward, “ they suc- 
ceeded in letting themselves down to the ground by a rope 
made of their garments knotted together, and some were 
already safe when I came away.” 

Katuti’s face clouded darkly; once more she sent forth 
her messenger. The minutes of his absence seemed like 
days; her bosom heaved in stormy agitation, then for a 
moment she controlled herself, and again her heart seemed 
to cease beating — she closed her eyes as if her anguish of 
anxiety was too much for her strength. At last, long 
after sunrise, the steward reappeared. 

Pale, trembling, hardly able to control his voice, he 
threw himself on the ground at her feet, crying out: 

“Alas! this night! prepare for the worst, mistress! 
May Isis comfort thee, who saw thy son fall in the service 
of his king and father! May Amon, the great god of 
Thebes, give thee strength! Our pride, our hope, thy son 
is slain, killed by a falling beam.” 

Pale and still as if frozen, Katuti shed not a tear; for a 
minute she did not speak, then she asked in a dull tone: 

“And Rameses?” 


UARDA. 


459 


“ The gods be praised !” answered the servant, “ he is 
safe — rescued by Siena !” 

“And Ani?” 

“Burned! — they found his body disfigured out of all 
recognition; they knew him again by the jewels he wore 
at the banquet.” 

Katuti gazed into vacancy,, and the steward started 
back as from a mad woman when, instead of bursting into 
tears, she clenched her small jeweled hands, shook her fists 
in the air, and broke into loud, wild laughter; then, 
startled at the sound of her own voice, she suddenly became 
silent and fixed her eyes vacantly on the ground. She 
neither saw nor heard that the captain of the watch, who 
was called “ the eyes and ears of the king,” had come in 
through the door of her tent, followed by several officers 
and a scribe; he came up to her, and called her by her 
name. Not till the steward timidly touched her did she 
collect her senses like one suddenly roused from deep 
sleep. 

“ What are you doing in my tent?” she asked the officer, 
drawing herself up haughtily. 

“In the name of the chief judge of Thebes,” said the 
captain of the watch, solemnly, “ I arrest you, and hail 
you before the high court of justice, to defend yourself 
against the grave and capital charges of high treason, 
attempted regicide, and incendiarism.” 

“ I am ready,” said the widow, and a scornful smile 
curled her lips. Then with her usual dignity she pointed 
to a seat and said : 

“ Be seated while I dress.” 

The officer bowed, but remained standing at the door of 
the tent while she arranged her black hair, set her diadem 
on her brow, opened her little ointment-chest, and took 
from it a small phial of the rapid poison strychnine, which 
some months before she had procured through Nemu from 
the old witch Hekt. 

“My mirror!” she called to a maid servant, who squatted 
in a corner of the tent. She held the metal mirror 
so as to conceal her face from the captain of the watch, 
put the little flask to her lips and emptied it at one 
mouthful. The mirror fell from her hand, she staggered, 
a deadly convulsion seized her — the officer rushed forward, 
and while she fixed her dying look upon him she said: 


460 


UAMDA. 


“ My game is lost, but Arneni— tell Ameni that he will 
not win either." 

She fell forward, murmured Nefert’s name, struggled 
convulsively, and was dead. 

When the draught of happiness which the gods prepare 
for some few men, seems to flow clearest and purest, Fate 
rarely fails to infuse into it some drop of bitterness. 
And yet we should not therefore disdain it, for it is that 
very drop of bitterness which warns us to drink of the joys 
of life thankfully, and in moderation. 

The perfect happiness of Mena and Nefert was troubled 
by the fearful death of Katuti, but both felt as if they now 
for the first time knew the full strength of their love for 
each other. Mena had to make up to his wife for the loss 
of mother and brother, and Nefert to restore to her hus- 
band much that he had been robbed of by her relatives, 
and they felt that they had met again not merely for 
pleasure, but to be to each other a support and a con- 
solation. 

Rameses quitted the scene of the fire full of gratitude to 
the gods who had shown such grace to him and his. He 
ordered numberless steers to be sacrificed, and thanks- 
giving festivals to be held throughout the land; but he 
was cut to the heart by the betrayal to which he had fallen 
a victim. He longed — as he always did in moments when 
the balance of his mind had been disturbed — for an hour 
of solitude, and retired to the tent which had been hastily 
erected for him. He could not bear to enter the splendid 
pavilion which had been Ani’s; it seemed to him infested 
with the leprosy of falsehood and treason. 

For an hour he remained alone, and weighed the worst 
he had suffered at the hands of men against that which was 
good and cheering, and he found that the good far out- 
weighed the evil. He vividly realized the magnitude of his 
debt of gratitude, not to the immortals only, but also to his 
earthly friends, as he recalled every moment of this morn- 
ing’s experience. 

“ Gratitude,” he said to himself, “ was impressed on you 
by your mother; you yourself have taught your children 
to be grateful. Piety is gratitude to the gods, and he only 
is really generous who does not forget the gratitude he 
owes to men.” 


UARDA. 


461 


He had thrown off all bitterness of feeling when he 
sent for Bent-Anat and Pentaur to be brought to his tent. 
He made his daughter relate at full length how the poet 
had won her love, and though he frequently interrupted 
her with blame as well as praise, his heart was full of 
fatherly joy when he laid his darling’s hand in that of the 
poet. 

Bent-Anat laid her head in full content on the breast of 
the noble Assa’s grandson, but she would have clung not 
less fondly to Pentaur the gardener’s son. 

“Now you are one of my own children,” said Rameses; 
and he desired the poet to remain with him while he com- 
manded the heralds, ambassadors and interpreters to bring 
to him the Asiatic princes, who were detained in their own 
tents on the farther side of the Nile, that he might con- 
clude with them such a treaty of peace as might continue 
valid for generations to come. Before they arrived, the 
young princes came to their father’s tent, and learned 
from his own lips the noble birth of Pentaur, and that 
they owed it to their sister that in him they saw another 
brother; they welcomed him with sincere affection, and 
all, especially Rameri, warmly congratulated the hand- 
some and worthy couple. 

The king then called Rameri forward from among his 
brothers, and thanked him before them all for his brave 
conduct during the fire. He had already been invested 
with the robe of manhood after the battle of Kadesh; he 
was now appointed to the command of a legion of chariot- 
warriors. and the order of the lion to wear round his neck 
was bestowed on him for his bravery.* The prince knelt, 
and thanked his father; but Rameses took the curly head 
in his hands and said: 

“You have won praise and reward by your splendid 
deeds from the father whom you have saved and filled 
with pride. But the king, who must uphold the laws and 
guide the destiny of this land, the king must blame you. 


* The naval officer Ahmes relates in the biographical inscription 
in his tomb at el Kab that he was invested with the robe of 
manhood, and “took a house,” or in other words married. The 
“order of the lion” is mentioned as having been bestowed on 
the commander-in-chief, Amen era Heb, who lived in the time of 
Thotmes III, 


462 


UARDA. 


nay perhaps punish yon. You could not yield to the dis- 
cipline of school, where we all must learn to obey if we 
would afterward exercise our authority with moderation, ] 
and without any orders you left Egypt and joined the i 
army. You showed the courage and strength of a man, i 
but the folly of a boy in all that regards prudence and fore- 1 
sight — things harder to learn for the son of a race of heroes ] 
than mere hitting and slashing at random; you, without j 
experience, measured yourself against masters of the art of ] 
war, and what was the consequence? Twice you fell a ; 
prisoner into the hands of the enemy, and I had to ransom ) 
you. 

“ The king of the Danaids gave you up in exchange for j 
his daughter, and he rejoices long since in the restoration 1 
of his child; but we, in losing her, lost the most powerful 
means of coercing the sea-faring nations of the islands and 
coast of the northern sea, who are constantly increasing in ] 
might and daring, and so diminished our chances of j 
securing a solid and abiding peace. 

“ Thus — through the careless willfulness of a boy, the j 
great work is endangered which I had hoped to have ] 
achieved. It grieves me particularly to humiliate your 
spirit to-day, when I have had so much reason to encour- , 
age you with praise. Nor will I punish you, only warn 
you and teach you. The mechanism of the state is like 
the working of the cogged wheels which move the water- - 
works on the shore of the Nile — if one tooth is missing the 
whole comes to a stand-still however strong the beasts that 
labor to turn it. Each of you — bear this in mind — is a main- 
wheel in the great machine of the state, and can serve an 
end only by acting unresistingly in obedience to the motive \ 
power. Now rise! we may perhaps .succeed in obtaining 
good security from the Asiatic king, though we have lost ! 
our hostage.” 

Heralds at this moment marched into the tent, and an- 
nounced that the representative of the Cheta king and the 
allied princes were in attendance in the council - tent; 
Rameses put on the crown of Upper and Lower Egypt and 
all his royal adornments; the chamberlain who carried the 
insignia of his power, and his head scribe with his decora- 
tion of plumes marched before him, while his sons, the 
commanders-in-chief, and the interpreters, followed him, 


UARDA. 


463 


Rameses took his seat on his throne with great dignity, 
and the sternest gravity marked his demeanor while he re- 
ceived the homage of the conquered and fettered kings. 

The Asiatics kissed the earth at his feet, only the. king 
of the Danaids did no more than bow before him. Rame- 
ses looked wrathfully at him, and ordered the interpreter 
to ask him whether he considered himself conquered or no, 
and the answer was given that he had not come before the 
Pharaoh as a prisoner, and that the obeisance which Rame- 
ses required of him was regarded as a degradation accord- 
ing to the customs of his free-born people, who prostrated 
themselves only before the gods. He hoped to become an 
ally of the king of Egypt, and he asked would he desire to 
call a degraded man his friend? 

Rameses measured the proud and noble figure before 
him with a glance, and said severely: 

“ I am prepared to treat for peace only with such of my 
enemies as are willing to bow to the double crown that I 
wear. If you persist in your refusal, you and your people 
will have no part in the favorable conditions that I am 
prepared to grant to these, your allies. ” 

The captive prince preserved his dignified demeanor, 
which was nevertheless free from insolence, when these 
words of the king were interpreted to him, and replied that 
he had come intending to procure peace at any cost, but 
that he never could nor would grovel in the dust at any 
man’s feet, nor before any crown. He would depart on 
the following day; one favor, however, he requested in his 
daughter’s name and his own— and he had heard that the' 
Egyptians respected women. The king knew, of course, 
that his charioteer Mena had treated his daughter, not as 
a prisoner but as a sister, and Praxilla now felt a wish, 
which he himself shared, to bid farewell to the noble Mena, 
and his wife, and to thank him for his magnanimous gen- 
erosity. Would Rameses permit him once more to cross 
the Nile before his departure, and with his daughter to 
visit Mena in his tent? 

Rameses granted his prayer; the prince left the tent, and 
the negotiations began. 

In a few hours they were brought to a close, for the 
Asiatic and Egyptian scribes had agreed, in the course 
of the long march southward, on the stipulations to 


464 


VARDA. 


be signed ; the treaty itself was to be drawn up after 
the articles had been carefully considered, and. to 
be signed in the city of Rameses called Tanis — 
or, by the numerous settlers in its neighborhood, Zoan. 
The Asiatic princes were to dine as guests with 
the king; but they sat at a separate table, as the Egyptians 
would have been defiled by sitting at the same table with 
strangers. 

Rameses was not perfectly satisfied. If the Danaids 
went away without concluding a treaty with him, it was to 
be expected that the peace which he was so earnestly striv- 
ing for would before long be again disturbed; and he 
neverthelesss felt that, out of regard for the other con- 
quered princes, he could not forego any jot of the humilia- 
tion which he had required of their king, and which he 
believed to be due to himself — though he had been 
greatly impressed by his dignified manliness and by the 
bravery of the troops that had followed him into the field. 

The sun was sinking when Mena, who that day had 
leave of absence from the king, came in great excitement 
up to the table where the princes were sitting and craved 
the king’s permission to make an important communica- 
tion. Rameses signed consent; the charioteer went close 
up to him, and they held a short but eager conversation in 
a low voice. 

Presently the king stood up and said, speaking to his 
daughter: 

“ This day which began so horribly will end joyfully. 
The fair child whom you to-day restored to life, but who 
so nearly fell a victim to the flames, is of noble origin.” 

“She comes of a royal house,” said Rameri, disrespect- 
fully interrupting his father. Rameses looked at him 
reprovingly. “ My sons are silent,” he said, “till I ask 
them to speak.” 

The prince colored and looked down; the king signed 
to Bent-Anat and Pentaur, begged his guests to excuse 
him for a short time, and was about to leave the tent; but 
Bent-Anat went up to him, and whispered a few words to 
him with reference to her brother. Not in vain: the king 
paused, and reflected for a few moments; then he looked 
at Rameri, who stood abashed, and as if rooted to the spot 
where he stood. The king called his name and beckoned 
him to follow him. 


UARDA. 


465 


CHAPTER XL V. 

Rameri had rushed off to summon the physicians, while 
Bent-Anat was endeavoring to restore the rescued Uarda 
to consciousness, and he followed them into his sister's 
tent. He gazed with tender anxiety into the face of the 
half-suffocated girl, who, though uninjured, still remained 
unconscious, and took her hand to press his lips to her 
slender fingers, but Bent-Anat pushed him gently away; 
then in low tones that trembled with emotion he implored 
her not to send him away, and told her how dear the girl 
whose life he had saved in the fight in the Necropolis had 
become to him — how, since his departure for Syria, he had 
never ceased to think of her night and day, and that he 
desired to make her his wife. 

Bent-Anat was startled; she reminded her brother of 
the stain that lay on the child of the paraschites and 
through which she herself had suffered so much ; but 
Rameri answered eagerly: 

“ In Egypt rank and birth are derived through the 
mother, and Kaschta's dead wife " 

“I know," interrupted Bent-Anat. “ Nebsecht has al- 
ready told us that she was adumb woman, a prisoner of war, 
and I myself believe that she was of no mean house, for 
Uarda is nobly formed in face and figure." 

“ And her skin is as fine as the petal of a flower," cried 
Rameri. “ Her voice is like the ring of pure gold, and — 
oh! look, she is moving. Uarda, open your eyes, Uarda! 
When the sun rises we praise the gods. Open your eyes! 
how thankful, how joyful I shall be if those two suns only 
rise again." 

Bent-Anat smiled, and drew her brother away from the 
heavily breathing girl, for a leech came into the tent to 
say that a warm medicated bath had been prepared and 
was ready for Uarda. The princess ordered her waiting- 
women to help lift the senseless girl, and was preparing to 
follow her when a message from her father required her 
presence in his tent. She could guess at the significance 
of this command, and desired Rameri to leave her that she 
might dress in festal garments: she could entrust Uarda 
to the care of Nefert during her absence. 


466 


UARDA. 


« She is kind and gentle, and she knows Uarda so well,” 
said the princess, “and the necessity of caring for this 
dear little creature will do her good. Her heart is torn 
between sorrow for her lost relations, and joy at being 
united again to her love. My father has given Mena leave 
of absence from his office for several days, and I have ex- 
cused her from her attendance on me, for the time during 
which we were so necessary to each other really came to an 
end yesterday. I feel, Rameri, as if we, after our escape, 
were like the sacred phoenix which comes to Heliopolis 
and burns itself to death only to soar again from its ashes 
young and radiant— blessed and blessing!” 

When her brother had left her, she threw herself before 
the image of her mother and prayed long and earnestly; 
she poured an offering of sweet perfume on the little altar 
of the goddess Hathor, which always accompanied her, 
had dressed in happy preparation for meeting her father, 
and — she did not conceal it from herself — Pentaur, then 
she went for a moment to Nefert’s tent to beg her to take 
good care of Uarda, and finally obeyed the summons of 
the king, who, as we know, fulfilled her utmost hopes. 

As Rameri quitted his sister’s tent he saw the watch 
seize and lead away a little boy; the child cried bitterly, 
and the prince in a moment recognized the little sculptor 
Scherau, who had betrayed the regent’s plot to him and 
to Uarda, and whom he had already fancied he had seen 
about the place. The guards had driven him away several 
times from the princess’ tent, but he had persisted in re- 
turning, and this obstinate waiting in the neighborhood 
had aroused the suspicions of an officer; for since the fire 
a thousand rumors of conspiracies and plots against the 
king had been flying about the the camp. Rameri at once 
freed the little prisoner, and heard from him that it was 
old Hekt who, before her death, had sent Kaschta and his 
daughter to the rescue of the king, that he himself had 
helped to rouse the troops, that now he had no home and 
wished to go to Uarda. 

The prince himself led the child to Uefert, and begged 
her to allow him to see Uarda, and to let him stay with 
her servants till he himself returned from his father’s tent. 

The leeches had treated Uarda with judgment, for 
under the influence of the bath she recovered her senses; 


UARDA. 


467 


when she had been dressed again in fresh garments, and 
refreshed by the essences and medicines which they gave 
her to inhale and to drink, she was led back into Nefert’s 
tent, where Mena, who had never before seen her, was 
astonished at her peculiar and touching beauty. 

“ She is very like my Danaid princess,” he said to his 
wife ; “ only she is younger and much prettier than 
she.” 

Little Scherau came in to pay his respects to her, and 
she was delighted to see the boy; still she was sad, and 
however kindly Nefert spoke to her she remained in silent 
reverie, while from time to time a large tear rolled down 
her cheek. 

“You have lost your father!” said Nefert, trying to 
comfort her. “And I, my mother and brother both in 
one day.” 

“Kaschta was rough, but, oh! so kind!” replied Uarda. 
“ He was always so fond of me; he w r as like the fruit of 
the doom palm; its husk is hard and rough, but he who 
knows how to open it finds the sweet pulp within. Now 
he is dead, and my grandfather and grandmother are gone 
before him, and I am like the green leaf that I saw float- 
ing on the waters when we were crossing the sea; anything 
so forlorn I never saw, abandoned by all it belonged to or 
had ever loved, the sport of a strange element in which 
noth-ing resembling itself ever grew or ever can grow.” 

Nefert kissed her forehead. “You have friends,” she 
said, “ who will never abandon you.” 

“1 know, I know!” said Uarda thoughtfully, “and yet 
I am alone — for the first time really alone. In Thebes I 
have often looked after the wild swans as they passed 
across the sky; one flies in front, then comes the body of 
the wandering party, and very often, far behind, a soli- 
tary straggler; and this last one I call lonely although he 
can see his brethren in front of him. But when the hunt- 
ers have shot down all the low-flying loiterers, and the last 
one has lost sight of the flock, and knows that he never 
a^ain can find them or follow them he is indeed to be 
pitied. I am as unhappy as the abandoned bird, for I have 
lost sight to-day of all that I belong to, and I am alone, 
and can never find them again.” 

“You will be welcomed into some more noble house 


468 


UARDA. 


than that to which you belong by birth,” said Nefert, to 
comfort her. 

Uarda’s eyes flashed, and she said proudly, almost 
defiantly: 

“My race is that of my mother, who was a daughter of 
no mean house; the reason I turned back this morning 
and went into the smoke and fire again after I had escaped 
once into the open air — what I went back for, because I felt 
it was worth dying for, was my mother’s legacy, which 
I had put away with my holiday dress when I followed the 
wretched Nemu to his tent. I threw myself into the jaws 
of death to save the jewel, but certainly not because it is 
made of gold and precious stones — for I do not care to be 
rich, and I want no better fare than a bit of bread and a 
few dates and a cup of water — but because it has a name 
on it in strange characters, and because I believe it will 
serve to discover the people from whom my mother was 
carried off; and now I have lost the jewel, and with it my 
identity and my hopes and my happiness.” 

Uarda wept aloud; Nefert put her arm round her affec- 
tionately. 

“ Poor child!” she said, “ was your treasure destroyed in 
the flames?” 

“ No, no,” cried Uarda, eagerly. “ I snatched it out of 
my chest and held it in my hand when Nebsecht took me 
in his arms, and I still had it in my hand when 1 was 
lying safe on the ground outside the burning house, and 
Bent-Anat was close to me, and Kameri came up. I 
remember seeing him as if I were in a dream, and I 
revived a little, and I felt the jewel in my fingers then.” 

“Then it was dropped on the way to the tent?” said 
Nefert. 

Uarda nodded; little Scherau, who had listened to the 
story, gave Uarda a loving glance, dimmed with tears, and 
quietly slipped out of the tent. 

Time went by in silence; Uarda sat looking at the 
ground, Nefert and Mena held each other’s hands, but the 
thoughts of all three were with the dead. A perfect still- 
ness reigned, and the happiness of the reunited couple 
was darkly overshadowed by their sorrow. From time to 
time the silence was broken by a trurnpet-blast from the 
royal tent; first when the Asiatic princes were introduced 


UARDA. 


469 


into the council-tent, then when the Danaid kingdeparted, 
and lastly when the Pharaoh preceded the conquered 
princes to the banquet. 

The charioteer remembered how his master had restored 
him to dignity and honor, for the sake of his faithful 
wife, and gratefully pressed her hand. 

Suddenly there was noise in front of the tent, and an 
officer entered to announce to Mena that the Danaid king 
and his daughter, accompanied by a body-guard, requested 
to see and speak with him and Nefert. 

The entrance to the tent was thrown wide open. Uarda 
retired modestly into the background, and Mena and 
Nefert went forward hand in hand to meet their unex- 
pected guests. 

The Greek prince was an old man, his beard and thick 
hair were gray, but his movements were youthful and light, 
though dignified and deliberate. His even, well-formed 
features were deeply furrowed, he had large, bright, clear- 
blue eyes, but round his fine lips were lines of care. Close 
to4*im walked his daughter; her long white robe striped 
with purple was held round her hips by a golden girdle, 
and her sunny yellow hair fell in waving locks over her 
neck and shoulders, while it was confined by a diadem 
which encircled her head; she was of middle height, and 
her motions were measured and calm like her father’s. 
Her brow was narrow, and in one line with her straight 
nose, her rosy mouth was sweet and kind, and beyond 
everything beautiful were the lines of her oval face and 
the turn of her snow-white throat. By their side stood 
the interpreter who translated every word of the conversa- 
tion on both sides. Behind them came two men and two 
women, who carried gifts for Mena and his wife. 

The prince praised Mena’s magnanimity in the warmest 
terms. 

“You have proved to me,” he said, “that the virtues 
of gratitude, of constancy, and of faith are practiced by 
the ^Egyptians; although your merit certainly appears less 
to me now that I see your wife, for he who owns the fair- 
est may easily forego any taste for the fair.” 

Nefert blushed. 

“Your generosity,” she answered, “does me more than 
justice at your daughter’s expense, and love moved my 


470 


VARDA. 


husband to the same injustice, but your beautiful daughter 
must forgive you and me also.” 

Praxilla went toward her and expressed her thanks; then 
she offered her the costly coronet, the golden clasps and 
strings of rare pearls which her women carried; her father 
begged Mena to accept a coat of mail and a shield of fine 
silver work. The strangers were then led into the tent, 
and were there welcomed and entertained with all honor, 
and offered bread and wine. While Mena pledged her 
father, Praxilla related to Nefert, with the help of the 
interpreter, what hours of terror she had lived through 
after she had been taken prisoner by the Egyptians, and 
was brought into the camp with the other spoils of war; 
how an older commander had asserted his claim to her, 
how Mena had given her his hand, had led her to his tent, 
and had treated her like his own daughter. Her voice 
shook with emotion, and even the interpreter was moved 
as she concluded her story with these words: “ How grate- 
ful I am to him you will fully understand when I tell you 
that the man who was to have been my husband fell 
wounded before my eyes while defending our camp; but 
he has recovered, and now only awaits my return for our 
wedding.” 

“May the gods only grant it!” cried the king, “for 
Praxilla is the last child of my house. The murderous 
war robbed me of my four fair sons before they had taken 
wives, my son-in-law was slain by the Egyptians at the 
taking of our camp, and his wife and new-born son fell 
into their hands, and Praxilla is my youngest child, the 
only one left to me by the envious gods.” 

While he was still speaking they heard the guards call 
out and a child's loud cry, and at" the same instant little 
Scherau rushed into the tent holding up his hand, 
exclaiming: 

“ I have it! I have found it!” 

Uarda, who had remained behind the curtain which 
screened the sleeping-room of the tent— but who had lis- 
tened with breathless attention to every word of the for- 
eigners, and who had never taken her eyes off the fair 
Praxilla— now came forward, emboldened by her agitation, 
into the midst of the tent, and took the jewel from the 
child's hand to show it to the Greek king;' for while she 


VARDA. 


4?1 


stood gazing at Praxilla it seemed to her that she was look- 
ing at herself in a mirror, and the idea had rapidly grown 
to conviction that her mother had been a daughter of the 
Danaids. Her heart beat violently as she Went up to the 
king with a modest demeanor, her head bent down, but 
holding her jewel up for him to see. 

The by-standers all gazed in astonishment at the veteran 
chief, for he staggered as she came up to him, stretched 
out his hands as if in terror toward the girl, and drew 
back, crying out: 

“ Xanthe, Xanthe ! Is your spirit freed from Hades? 
Are you come to summon me?” 

Praxilla looked at her father in alarm, but suddenly she, 
too, gave a piercing cry, snatched a chain from her neck, 
hurried toward Uarda, and seizing the jewel she held, 
exclaimed: 

“ Here is the other half of the ornament; it belonged to 
my poor sister Xanthe!” 

"The old Greek was a pathetic sight; he struggled hard 
to collect himself, looking with tender delight at Uarda, 
his sinewy hands trembling as he compared the two pieces 
of the necklet; they matched precisely — each represented 
the wing of an eagle which was attached to half an oval 
covered with an inscription; when they were laid together 
they formed the complete figure of a bird with outspread 
wings, on whose breast the lines exactly matched the fol- 
lowing oracular verse: 

“ Alone each is a trifling thing, a woman’s useless toy — 

But with its counterpart behold ! the favorite bird of Zeus.” 

A glance at the inscription convinced the king that he 
held in his hand the very jewel which he had put with his own 
hands round the neck of his daughter Xanthe on her mar- 
riage-day, and of which the other half had been preserved 
by her mother, from whom it had descended to Praxilla. 
It had originally been made for his wife and her twin 
sister who had died young. Before he made any inquiries, 
or asked for any explanations, he took Uarda’s head 
between his hands, and turning her face close to his he 
gazed at her features, as if he were reading a book in 
which he expected to find a memorial of all the blissful 


m 


UARDA, 


hours of his youth, and the girl felt no fear; nor did she 
shrink when he pressed his lips to her forehead, for she 
felt that this man’s blood ran in her own veins. At last 
the king signed to the interpreter; Uardawas asked to tell 
all that she knew of her mother, and when she said that 
she had come a captive to Thebes with an infant that had 
soon after died, that her father had bought her and had 
loved her in spite of her being dumb, the prince’s con- 
viction became certainty; he acknowledged Uarda as his 
grandchild, and Praxilla clasped her in her arms. 

Then he told Mena that it was now twenty years since 
his son-in-law had been killed, and his daughter Xanthe, 
whom Uarda exactly resembled, had been carried into 
captivity. Praxilla was then only just born, and his wife 
died of the shock of such terrible news. All his inquiries 
for Xanthe and her child had been fruitless, but he now 
remembered that once, when he had offered a large ransom 
for his daughter if she could be found, the Egyptians had 
inquired whether she were dumb, and that he had 
answered “ no.” Xo doubt Xanthe had lost the power of 
speech through grief, terror and suffering. 

The joy of the king was unspeakable, and Uarda was 
never tired of gazing at his daughter and holding her 
hand. 

Then she turned to the interpreter. 

“Tell me,” she said; “how do I say ‘1 am so very 
happy ?’ ” 

He told her, and she smilingly repeated his words. 
“Now f Uarda will love you with all her heart?”’ and she 
said it after him in broken accents that sounded so sweet 
and so heart-felt that the old man clasped her to his 
breast. 

Tears of emotion stood in Xefert’s eyes, and when 
Uarda flung herself into her arms she said: 

“ The forlorn swan has found its kindred, the floating 
leaf has reached the shore, and must be happy now!” 

Thus passed an hour of the purest happiness; at last 
the Greek king prepared to leave, and he wished to take 
Uarda with him; but Mena begged his permission to com- 
municate all that had occurred to the Pharaoh and Bent- 
Anat, for Uarda was attached to the princess’ train, and 
had been left in his charge, and he dared not trust her in 


UARDA. 


473 


any other hands without Bent-Anat’s permission. Without 
waiting for the king’s reply he left the tent, hastened to 
the banqueting-tent, and, as we know, Rameses and the 
princess had at once attended to his summons. 

On the way Mena gave them a vivid description of the 
exciting events that had taken place, and Rameses, with a 
side glance at Bent-Anat, asked Rameri: 

“ Would you be prepared to repair your errors, and to 
win the friendship of the Greek king by being betrothed 
to his daughter?” 

The prince could not answer a word, but he clasped his 
father’s hand, and kissed it so warmly that Rameses, as he 
drew it away, said: 

“ I really believe that you have stolen a march on me, 
and have been studying diplomacy behind my back!” 

Rameses met his noble opponent outside Mena’s tent, 
and was about to offer him his hand, but the Danaid chief 
had sunk on his knees before him as the other princes had 
done. 

“ Regard me not as a king and a warrior,” he exclaimed, 
“ only as a suppliant father; let us conclude a peace, and 
permit me to take this maiden, my grandchild, home with 
me to my own country.” 

Rameses raised the old man from the ground, gave him 
his hand, and said kindly: 

“ I can only grant the half of what you ask. I, as king 
of Egypt, am most willing to grant you a faithful compact 
for a sound and lasting peace; as regards this maiden, you 
must treat with my children, first with my daughter 
Bent-Anat, one of whose ladies she is, and then with your 
released prisoner there, who wishes to make Uarda his 
wife.” 

“ I will resign my share in the matter to my brother,” 
said Bent-Anat, “ and I only ask you, maiden, whether 
you are inclined to acknowledge him as your lord and 
master?” 

Uarda bowed assent, and looked at her grandfather 
with an expression which he understood without any 
interpreter. 

“ I know you well,” he said, turning to Rameri. “ We 
stood face to face in the fight, and I took you prisoner as 
you fell stunned by a blow from my sword. You are still 


m 


UARDA. 


too rash, but that is a fault which time will amend in a 
youth of your heroic temper. Listen to me now, and you 
too, noble Pharaoh, permit me these few words ; let us 
betroth these two, and may their union be the bond of 
ours, but first grant me for a year to take my long-lost 
child home with me that she may rejoice my old heart, 
and that I may hear from her lips the accents of her 
mother whom you took from me. They are both young; 
according to the usages of our country, where both men 
and women ripen later than in your country, they are 
almost too young for the solemn tie of marriage. But one 
thing above all will determine you to favor my wishes; this 
daughter of a royal house has grown up amid the humblest 
surroundings; here she has no home, no family ties. The 
prince has wooed her, so to speak, on the highway, but if 
she now comes with me he can enter the palace of kings as 
suitor to a princess, and the marriage feast I will provide 
shall be a right royal one.” 

“What you demand is just and wise,” replied Rameses. 
“Take your grandchild with you as my son's betrothed 
bride — my future daughter. Give me "your hands, my 
children. The delay will teach you patience, for Rameri 
must remain a full year from to-day in Egypt, and it will 
be to your profit, sweet child, for the obedience which he 
will learn through his training in the army will temper the 
nature of your future husband. You, Rameri, shall in a 
year from to-day — and I think you will not forget the 
date — find at your service a ship in the harbor of Pelusium 
fitted and manned with Phoenicians to convey you to your 
wedding.” 

“ So be it!” exclaimed the old man. “And by Zeus, 
who hears me swear — I will not withhold Xanthe's daugh- 
ter from your son when he comes to claim her!” 

When Rameri returned to the princes' tent he threw 
himself on their necks in turn, and when he found himself 
alone with their surly old house-steward, he snatched his 
wig from his head, flung it in the air,’ and then coaxingly 
stroked the worthy officer's cheeks as he set it on his head 
again. 


UARDA. 


475 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

Uarda accompanied her grandfather and Praxilla to 
their tent on the farther side of the Nile, but she was to 
return next morning to the Egyptian camp to take leave 
of all her friends, and to provide for her father's inter- 
ment. Nor did she delay attending to the last wishes of 
old Hekt, and Bent-Anat easily persuaded her father, 
when he learned how greatly he had been indebted to her, 
to have her embalmed like a lady of rank. 

Before Uarda left the Egyptian camp, Pentaur came to 
entreat her to afford her dying preserver Nebsecht the last 
happiness of seeing her once more; Uarda acceded with a 
blush, and the poet, who had watched all night by his 
friend, went forward to prepare him for her visit. 

Nebsecht's burns and a severe wound on his head caused 
him great suffering; his cheeks glowed with fever, and the 
physicians told Pentaur that he probably could not live 
more than a few hours. 

The poet laid his cool hand on his friend's brow, and 
spoke to him encouragingly; but Nebsecht smiled at his 
words with the peculiar expression of a man who knows 
that his end is near, and said in a low voice and with a 
visible effort: 

“A few breaths more and here, and here, will be peace." 
He laid his hand on his head and on his heart. 

“ We all attain to peace," said Pentaur. “But perhaps 
only to labor more earnestly and unweariedly in the land 
beyond the grave. If the gods reward anything it is the 
honest struggle, the earnest seeking after truth; if any 
spirit can be made one with the great Soul of the world 
it will be yours, and if any eye may see the Godhead" 
through the veil which here shrouds the mystery of His 
existence yours will have earned the privilege." 

“ I have pushed and pulled," sighed Nebsecht, “ with 
all my might, and now when I thought I had caught a 
glimpse of the truth the heavy fist of death comes down 
upon me and shuts my eyes. What good will it do me to 
see with the eye of the Divinity or to share in his omnis- 
cience? It is not seeing, it is seeking that is delightful — 


476 


UARDA. 


so delightful that I would willingly set my life there against 
another life here for the sake of it.” 

He was silent, for his strength failed, and Pentaur begged 
him to keep quiet, and to occupy his mind in recalling all 
the hours of joy which life had given him. 

“ They have been few,” said the leech. “ When my 
mother kissed me and gave me dates, when I could work 
and observe in peace, when you opened my eyes to the 
beautiful world of poetry — that was good!” 

“ And you have soothed the sufferings of many men,” 
added Pentaur, “and never caused pain to any one.” 

Nebsecht shook his head. 

“I drove the old paraschites,” he muttered, “ to mad- 
ness and to death.” 

He was silent for a long time, then he looked up eagerly 
and said: “But not intentionally — and notin vain! In 
Syria, at Megiddo I could work undisturbed; now I know 
what the organ is that thinks. The heart! What is the 
heart? A ram's heart or a man’s heart, they serve the 
same end; they turn the wheel of animal life, they both 
beat quicker in terror or in joy, for we feel fear or pleas- | 
ure just as animals do. But Thought, the divine power 
that flies to the infinite, and enables us to form and prove i 
our opinions, has its seat here — here in the brain, behind j 
the brow.” 

He paused exhausted and overcome with pain. Pen- < 
taur thought he was wandering in his fever, and offered I 
him a cooling drink while two physicians walked round 
his bed singing litanies; then, as Nebsecht raised himself 
in bed with renewed energy, the poet said to him: 

“ The fairest memory of your life must surely be that of 
the sweet child whose face, as you once confessed to me, i 
first opened your soul to the sense of beauty, and whom , 
with your own hands you snatched from death at the cost 
of your own life. You know Uarda has found her own 
relatives and is happy, and she is very grateful to her pre- j 
server, and would like to see him once more before she ! 
goes far away with her grandfather.” 

The sick man hesitated before he answered, softly: 

“ Let her come — but I will look at her from a distance.” ! 

Pentaur went out and soon returned with Uarda, who 
remained standing with glowing cheeks and tears in her 


UARDA . 


477 


eyes at the door of the tent. The leech looked at her a 
long time with an imploring and tender expression, then 
he said: 

“ Accept my thanks — and be happy.” 

The girl would have gone up to him to take his hand, 
but he waved her off with his right hand enveloped in 
wrappings. 

“ Come no nearer,” he said, “but stay a moment, longer. 
You have tears in your eyes; are they for me or only for 
my pain ?” 

“ For you, good noble man! my friend and my pre- 
server!” said Uarda. “For you dear, poor Nebsecht!” 

The leech closed his eyes as she spoke these words with 
earnest feeling, but he looked up once more as she ceased 
speaking, and gazed at her with tender admiration; then 
lie said, softly: 

“ It is enough — now I can die.” 

Uarda left the tent, Pentaur remained with him lis- 
tening to his hoarse and difficult breathing; suddenly 
Nebsecht raised himself, and said: “ Farewell, my friend 
— my journey is beginning, who knows whither?” 

“ Only not into vacancy, not to end in nothingness!” 
cried Pentaur, warmly. 

The leech shook his head. “ I have been something,” 
he said, “ and being something I cannot become nothing. 
Nature is a good economist, and utilizes the smallest trifle; 
she will use me too according to her need. She brings 
everything to its end and purpose in obedience to some 
rule and measure, and will so deal with me after I am 
dead; there is no waste. Each thing results in being that 
which it is its function to become; our wish or will is not 
asked — my head! when the pain is in my head I cannot 
think — if only I could prove — could prove ” 

The last words were less and less audible, his breath was 
choked, and in a few seconds Pentaur with deep regret 
closed his eyes. 

Pentaur, as he quitted the tent where the dead man lay, 
met the high-priest Ameni, who had gone to seek him by 
bis friend’s bedside, and they returned together to gaze 
on the dead. Ameni, with much emotion, put up a few 
earnest prayers for the salvation of his soul, and then re- 


478 


UARDA. 


quested Pen tour to follow him without delay to his tent. 
On the way he prepared the poet, with the polite delicacy 
which was peculiar* to him, for a meeting which might be 
more painful than joyful to him, and must in any case 
bring him many hours of anxiety and agitation. 

The judges in Thebes, who had been become compelled to 
sentence the lady Setchem, as the mother of a traitor, to 
banishment to the mines* had, without any demand on her 
part, granted leave to the noble and most respectable 
matron to go under an escort of guards to meet the king 
on his return into Egypt, in order to petition for mercy 
for herself, but not — as it was expressly added — for Paaker; 
and she had set out, but with the secret resolution to 
obtain the king's grace not for herself but for her son. 

Ameni had already left Thebes for the north when this 
sentence was pronounced, or he would have reversed it by 
declaring the true origin of Paaker; for after he had given 
up his participation in the regent's conspiracy, he no longer 
had any motive for keeping old Hekt's secret. 

Setchem's journey was lengthened by a storm which 
wrecked the ship in which she was descending the Nile, 
and she did not reach Pelusium till after the king. The 
canal which formed the mouth of the Nile close to this 
fortress and joined the river to the Mediterranean, was so 
overcrowded with the boats of the regent and his follow- 
ers, of the ambassadors, nobles, citizens and troops which 
had met from all parts of the country, that the lady's boat 
could find anchorage only at a great distance from the 
city, and accompanied by her faithful steward she had 
succeeded only a few hours before in speaking to the high- 
priest. 

Setchem was terribly changed; her eyes, which only a 
few months since had kept an efficient watch over the 
wealthy Theban household, were now dim and weary, and 
although her figure had not grown thin it had lost its 


* Agatharchides, in Diodorus iii, 12, says that in many cases not 
only the criminal but his relations also were condemned to labor in 
the mines. In the convention signed between Kameses and the 
Cheta king it is expressly provided that the deserter restored to 
Egypt shall go unpunished, that no injury shall be done “to 
his house, his wife or his children, nor shall his mother be put to 
death.” 


UARDA. 


479 


dignity and energy, and seemed inert and feeble. Her 
lips, so ready for a wise or sprightly saying, were closely 
shut, and moved only in silent prayer or when some friend 
spoke to her of her unhappy son. His deed she well knew 
was that of a reprobate, and she sought no excuse or 
defence ; her mother’s heart forgave it without any. 
Whenever she thought of him — and she thought of him 
incessantly all through the day and through her sleepless 
nights — her eyes overflowed with tears. 

Her boat had reached Pelusium just as the flames were 
breaking out in the palace; the broad flare of light and the 
cries from the various vessels in the harbor brought her on 
deck. She heard that the burning house was the pavilion 
erected by Ani for the king’s residence; Kameses she was 
told was in the utmost danger, and the fire had beyond a 
doubt been laid by traitors. 

As day broke and further news reached her, the names 
of her son and of her sister came to her ear; she asked no 
questions — she would not hear the truth — but she knew it 
all the same; as often as the word 44 traitor ” caught her 
ear in her cabin, to which she had retreated, she felt as if 
some keen pain shot through her bewildered brain, and 
shuddered as if from a cold chill. 

All through that day she could neither eat nor drink, 
but lay with closed eyes on her couch, while her steward — 
who had soon learned what a terrible share his former 
master had taken in the incendiarism, and who now gave 
up his lady’s cause for lost — sought everywhere for the 
high-priest Ameni ; but as he was among the persons 
nearest to the king it was impossible to see him that day, 
and it was not till the next morning that he was able to 
speak with him. Ameni inspired the anxious and sorrow- 
ful old retainer with fresh courage, returned with him in 
his own chariot to the harbor, and accompanied him to 
Setchein’s boat to prepare her for the happiness which 
awaited her after her terrible troubles. 

But he came too late; the spirit of the poor lady was 
quite clouded, and she listened to him without any interest 
while he strove to restore her to courage and to recall her 
wandering mind. She only interrupted him over and over 
again with the questions: 44 Did he doit?” or 44 Is lie 
alive?” 


480 


UARDA. 


At last Ameni succeeded in persuading her to accompany 
him in her litter to his tent, where she would find her son. 
Pentaur was wonderfully like her lost husband, and the 
priest, experienced in humanity, thought that the sight of 
him would rouse the dormant powers of her mind. When 
she had arrived at his tent, he told her with kind precau- 
tion the whole history of the exchange of Paaker for Pen- 
taur, and she followed the story with attention but with 
indifference, as if she were hearing of the adventures of 
others who did not concern her. When Ameni enlarged 
on the genius of the poet and on his perfect resemblance 
to his dead father she muttered: 

“ I know — I know. You mean the speaker at the feast 
of the Valley,” and then, although she had been told 
several times that Paaker had been killed, she asked again 
if her son was alive. 

Ameni decided at last to fetch Pentaur himself. When he 
came back with him, fully prepared to meet his heavily- 
stricken mother, the tent was empty. The high-priest's 
servants told him that Setchem had persuaded the easily- 
moved old prophet Gagabu to conduct her to the place 
where the body of Paaker lay. Ameni was very much 
vexed, for he feared that Setchem was now lost indeed, 
and he desired the poet to follow him at once. 

The mortal remains of the pioneer had been laid in a 
tent not far from the scene of the fire; his body was cov- 
ered with a cloth, but his pale face, which had not been 
injured in his fall, remained uncovered; by his side knelt 
the unhappy mother. 

She paid no heed to Ameni when he spoke to her, and 
he laid his hand on her shoulder and said as he pointed to 
the body: 

“ This was the son of a gardener. You brought him 
up faithfully as if he were your own; but your noble hus- 
band's true heir, the son you bore him, is Pentaur, to 
whom the gods have given not only the form and features 
but the noble qualities of his father. The dead man may 
be forgiven — for the sake of your virtues; but your love is 
due to this nobler soul — the real son of your husband, the 
poet of Egypt, the preserver of the king's life.” 

Setchem rose and went up to Pentaur, she laid her 
hands on his breast as if to feel if he were indeed a living 
man, and looked into his face. 


UARDA. 


481 


“It is he,” she said. “ May the immortals bless him!” 

Pentaur would have clasped her in his arms, but she 
pushed him away as if she feared to commit some breach 
of faith, and turning hastily to the bier she said softly: 

“ Poor Paaker — poor, poor Paaker!” 

“Mother, mother, do you not know your son?” cried 
Pentaur, deeply moved. 

She turned, to him again: “It is his voice,” she said. 
“It is he.” 

She went up to Pentaur, clung to him, clasped her 
arms round his neck as he bent over her, then kissing him 
fondly. 

“The gods will bless you!” she said once more. 

She tore herself from him and threw herself down by 
the body of Paaker, as if she had done him some injustice 
and robbed him of his rights. 

Thus she remained, speechless and motionless, till they 
carried her back to her boat; there she lay down, and 
refused to take any nourishment; from time to time she 
whispered “ Poor Paaker!” She no longer repelled Pen- 
taur, for she did not again recognize him, and before he 
left her she had followed the rough-natured son of her 
adoption to the other world. 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

The king had left the camp, and had settled in the 
neighboring “city of Rameses” Tanis, with the greater 
part of his army. The Hebrews, who were settled in im- 
mense numbers in the province of Goshen, and whom Ani 
had attached to his cause by remitting their task-work, 
were now driven to labor at the palaces and fortifications 
which Rameses had begun to build. 

At Tanis, too, the treaty of peace was signed and was 
presented to Rameses inscribed on a silver tablet by 
Tarthisebu, the representative of the Cheta king, in the 
name of his lord and master.* 

* This remarkable document is preserved on the huge fragment 
which remains of the south wall of the temple of Karnak. The silver 
tablet on which it was engraved is mentioned and described in the 
fourth line of the treaty. It was rectangular, and had a loop at the 
top to hang it up by. The best translation is by Chabas in “ Voyage 
d’un Egyptien.” 


482 


UARDA. 


Pentaur followed the king as soon as he had closed his 
mother's eyes, and accompanied her body to Heliopolis, 
there to have it embalmed; from thence the mummy was 
to be sent to Thebes, and solemnly placed in the grave of 
herancestors. This duty of children toward their parents, 
and indeed all care for the dead, was regarded as so sacred 
by the Egyptians that neither Pentaur nor Bent-Anat 
would have thought of being united before it was accom- 
plished. 

On the twenty-first day of the month Tybi, of the 
twenty-first year of the reign of Kameses,* the day on 
which the peace was signed, the poet returned to Tanis, 
sad at heart, for the old gardener whom he had regarded 
and loved as his father had died before his return home; the 
good old man had not long survived the false intelligence of 
the death of the poet,, whom he had not only loved but 
reverenced as a superior being bestowed upon his house as 
a special grace from the gods. 

It was not till seven months after the fire at Pelusium 
that Pentaur's marriage with Bent-Anat was solemnized in 
the palace of the Pharaohs at Thebes; but time and the 
sorrows he had suffered had only united their hearts more 
closely. She felt that though he was the stronger she was 
the giver and the helper, and realized with delight that 
like the sun, which when it rises invites a thousand flowers 
to open and unfold, the glow of her presence raised the 
poet's oppressed soul to fresh life and beauty. They had 
given each other up for lost through strife and suffering, 
and now had found each other again; each knew how 
precious the other was. To make each other happy, and 
prove their affection, was now the aim of their lives, and 
and as they each had proved that they prized honor and 
right-doing above happiness their union was a true mar- 
riage, ennobling and purifying their souls. She could share 
his deepest thoughts and his most difficult undertakings, 
and if their house were filled with children she would know 
how to give him the fullest enjoyment of those small 
blessings which at the same time are the greatest joys of 
life. 


* According to tlie date of tlie treaty of peace this is the twenty - 
ninth of January. 


UARDA. 


483 


Pentaur finding himself endowed by the king with super- 
abundant wealth, gave up the inheritance of his fathers 
to his brother Horus, who was raised to the rank of chief 
pioneer as a reward for his interposition at the battle of 
Kadesh; Horus replaced the fallen cedar-trees which had 
stood at the door of his house by masts of more moderate 
dimensions. 

The hapless Huni, under whose name Pentaur had been 
transferred to the mines of Sinai, was released from the 
quarries of Chennu, and restored to his children enriched 
by gifts from the poet. 

The Pharaoh fully recognized the splendid talents of his 
daughter’s husband; she to his latest days remained his 
favorite child, even after he had consolidated the peace by 
marrying the daughter of the Cheta king, and Pentaur 
became his most trusted adviser, and responsible for the 
weightiest affairs in the state. 

Rameses learned from the papers found in Ani’s tent, 
and from other evidence which was only too abundant, 
that the superior of the House of Seti, and with him the 
greater part of the priesthood, had for a long time been 
making common cause with the traitor; in the first in- 
stance he determined on the severest, nay bloodiest pun- 
ishment, but he was persuaded by Pentaur and by his son 
Chamus to assert and support the principles of his govern- 
ment by milder and yet thorough measures. Rameses de- 
sired to be a defender of religion — of the religion which 
could carry consolation into the life of the lowly and over- 
burdened, and give their existence a higher and fuller 
meaning — the religion which to him, as king, appeared the 
indispensable means of keeping the grand significance of 
human life ever present to his mind — sacred as the inher- 
itance of his fathers, and useful as the school where the 
people, who needed leading, might learn to follow and 
obey. 

But nevertheless no one, not even the priests, the guar- 
dians of souls, could be permitted to resist the laws 
of which he was the bulwark, to which he himself was 
subject, and which enjoined obedience to his authority; 
and before he left Tanis he had given Ameni and his fol- 
lowers to understand that he alone was master in Egypt. 

The god Seth, who had been honored by the Semite 


484 


UARDA . 


races since the time of the Hyksos, and whom they called 
upon under the name of Baal, had from the earliest times 
never been allowed a temple on the Nile, as being the god 
of the stranger; but Rameses — in spite of the bold remon- 
strances of the priestly party who called themselves the 
“-true believers ” — raised a magnificent temple to this god 
in the city of Tanis* to supply the religious needs of the 
immigrant foreigners. In the same spirit of toleration he 
would not allow the worship of strange gods to be inter- 
fered with, though on the other hand he was jealous in 
honoring the Egyptian gods with unexampled liberality. 
He caused temples to be erected in most of the great cities 
of the kingdom, he added to the temple of Ptali at Mem- 
phis, and erected immense colossi in front of the pylons in 
memory of his deliverance from the fire. In the Necropo- 
lis of Thebes he had a splendid edifice constructed — which 
to this day delights the beholder by the symmetry of its 
proportions f — in memory of the hour when he escaped 
death as by a miracle; on its pylon he caused the battle of 
Kadesh to be represented in beautiful pictures in relief, 
and there, as well as on the architrave of the great ban- 
queting-hall, he had the history inscribed of the danger he 
had run when he stood “ alone and no man with him!” 

By his order Pentaur rewrote the song he had sung at 
Pelusium; it is preserved in three temples, and, in frag- 
ments, on several papvrus-rolls which can be made to com- 
plete each other. It was destined to become the national 
epic — the Iliad — of Egypt. 

It became PentauPs duty to constitute the new votive 
temple, which was called the House of Rameses, on the 
model of the House of Seti, for the Pharaoh felt that it 
was requisite to form a new order of priests, and to accus- 
tom the ministers of the gods to subordinate their own de- 
signs to the laws of the country, anyl to the decrees of 
their guardian and ruler the king. Pentaur was made 
the superior of the new college, and its library, which was 
called “ the hospital for the soul,” was without an equal; 
in this academy, which was the prototype of the later- 
formed museum and library of Alexandria, sages and poets 


* This temple is frequently mentioned, 
f Known as the Ramesseum. 


itam>a. 


485 


grew up whose works endured for thousands of years — and 
fragments of their writings have even come down to us. 
The most famous are the hymns of Anana, Pentaur’s 
favorite disciple, and the tale of the “Two Brothers,” 
composed by Gagabu, the grandson of the old prophet. 

Ameni did not remain in Thebes. Rameses had been 
informed of the way in which he had turned the death of the 
ram to account, and the use he had made of the heart, as 
lie had supposed it, of the sacred animal, and he trans- 
lated him without depriving him of his dignity or revenues 
to Mendes, the city of the holy rams in the Delta, where, 
as he observed, not without satirical meaning, he would be 
particularly intimate with these sacred beasts; in Mendes 
Ameni exerted great influence, and in spite of many dif- 
ferences of opinion which threatened to sever them, he 
and Pentaur remained fast friends to the day of his death. 

In the first court of the house of Rameses there stands — 
now broken across the middle — the wonder of the traveler, 
the grandest colossus in Egypt, made of the hardest 
granite, and exceeding even the well-known statue of 
Mem non in the extent of its base. It represents Rameses 
the Great. Little Scherau, whom Pentaur had educated 
to be a sculptor, executed it, as well as many other statues 
of the great sovereign of Egypt. 

A year after the burning of the pavilion at Pelusium 
Rameri sailed to the land of the Dan aids, was married to 
Uarda, and then remained in his wife’s native country, 
where, after the death of her grandfather, he ruled 
over many islands of the Mediterranean, and became 
the founder of a great and famous race. Uarda’s name 
was long held in tender remembrance by their subjects, 
for having grown up in misery she understood the secret 
of alleviating sorrow and relieving want, and of doing 
good and giving happiness without humiliating those she 
benefited. 


THE EHD. 








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